


Creed ends, Creed begins

by Anjaliya, JaelleG, SparkedSynapse



Series: Genesis [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Apple of Eden, Breaking the Code, F/M, Isu, Modern Day Story, Pieces of Eden, unknown Pieces of Eden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 133,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjaliya/pseuds/Anjaliya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaelleG/pseuds/JaelleG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkedSynapse/pseuds/SparkedSynapse
Summary: Assassin's Creed Unity FanFiction settled after the Events of the Game in 1799.The two Main Characters are the well known Arno Victor Dorian and an unknown, young, female Assassin with a Special Mission regarding him and Napoleon Bonaparte.It will be a rough travel around the Happenings of 18. Brumaire.And they will need all the help, that's available, even from old friends known as "The Baguettes".Specially because a mysterious 3rd Party entered the alltime battle between Assassin's and Templars and seems to force France into the next Chaos.





	1. Brother

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no Native English speaking / writing Person. So, there is help from SparkedSynapse. Thanks for this :)  
> For all Unity Fans / Haters: I decided, that Arno Dorian didn't rejoin the Assassin's Order directly afterwards the Events in Unity and Dead Kings.  
> The Facts and Discussions about his Return are very different. So, if you didn't like that idea at all, you shouldn't read this FanFic.  
> All others, have Fun  
> A Special thanks to EnglishButter, that i was allowed to use the idea of the Baguettes. Appreciate this a lot!

**Nothing is true, everything is permitted.**   
**We work in the Dark, to serve the Light. We are Assassin’s.**

**All that we do, all that we are, begins and ends with ourselves.**

\----------------------------------------------- Paris, Île Saint-Louis, April 1799 -------

 

There it was, the unmistakable sound of a heavily-armed man who had no fear of the consequences such an appearance might bring. Adeláire had only dropped her attention for the fraction of a lash stroke. Now, she bit down inconspicuously on the inside of her lip and scolded herself for her negligence. Carefully and barely holding her breath, she dared to shift her sight toward the entrance to her right, where the sound had originated.

She had guessed correctly. That was him, unmistakable. Even though his appearance no longer resembled the image of him that she had remembered. Gone was the characteristic blue coat, replaced by gloomy-looking leather. The rapier exchanged for a sword with an eagle's head and a pair of golden eagle wings. Unmistakable for those who knew what they had to look out for, however, was the distinct, left-hand bracer, giving credit to the hidden blade's name. New to her were the thigh-high boots, which certainly made sneaking an easier exercise. Everything about him screamed "Assassin" to the initiate. Didn’t even need the characteristic obviousness of the hood. What had led to Arno Victor Dorian no longer belonging with the Brotherhood?

Within a second, sudden alarms shrieked in Adeláire's head. Something crackled in her neck, which she clearly perceived as a threat. As unobtrusive as possible she sank her gaze into the cup of coffee, which still stood steaming in front of her. She concentrated and spread her aggravated perception, only to meet the sensation of the danger's source apparently doing exactly the same thing. She did not dare to throw Dorian a glance at this moment.

She had heard enough stories, rumors and whispered awe to know that he would now perceive every wrong impulse. What surprised her more was that this threatening feeling withdrew as if it hadn't been there at all, and from the entrance bright children's laughter drifted to her.

"And this is all yours, Arno? Incredible..!"

Adeláire's eyes flashed a heartbeat to the entrance to capture an astonishing picture. An Arno, who was pushed aside by a boy not older than 12, 13 years, so that he could storm into Café Théâtre. With large, child's eyes this boy looked around while Arno showed the way for him with a short flickering smile.

"Welcome to my home Léon. Take a look around, and when you're done, just come up to the first floor.” This voice. It sounded the same as Adeláire remembered it. Although the memory was from a long time ago, it triggered a gentle smile.

"All right!" resounded from the boy, who continued his stormy and unabashed exploration of the establishment.

Adeláire's eyes followed the boy and again she let her attention wander for a moment. Immediately, she was punished for it. Almost too late she noticed the rather slow stroll of the Assassin toward her. Like a burning in her face, she could feel his gaze, resting and looking at her. Just don't breathe too hard, or behave strangely, the thought flashed through her head as she lifted her coffee to her lips again. Giving herself the semblance of enjoyment, she half closed her eyes, hoping that the redness on her skin would not rise to her neck.

What was he likely seeing? The dark brown hair, which today was tucked into a daedal hairstyle matching her appearance? The slim figure, equipped with muscles in the right places? The delicate pallor of her powdered skin? The green eyes? Or did he even recognize her?

Adeláire hardly dared to put down the cup of coffee again, and was relieved when the menacing shadow retreated from her, the air returning to her lungs. She knew that if she should rise now, she would likely have his blades in her body faster than she might say >brother<.

Dorian had always been known for his impulsive nature and stubbornness. Nothing made her believe that this Arno, now in his early 30s, had changed much. So she took the newspaper lying on the table, hoping to sink back into inconspicuous subtlety.

Adeláire's muscles ached from the sheer tension as Arno finally disengaged himself from his employee in the lookout, directly to the left the entrance near the stage. He took a fresh cup of coffee and seemed to be moving up toward the first floor.

Adeláire's gaze followed him only briefly, furtively, as to ensure that he'd not changed his mind. She waited a few breaths after he disappeared, and finally put the newspaper aside. Without ostentation she drank her coffee and then searched her purse for money. She left a reasonable sum in coins and rose at last. Looking around, as if she wanted to make sure she did not leave anything, she finally turned to go.

As soon as she walked onto the street, she spread her senses as far as she could. And she did well. She could feel his presence above her on a balcony. It did cost her an immense effort of will and strength not to look upwards, or even to run away. The first rule of staying hidden in plain sight had always been to keep calm. And precisely that was more important than ever at this moment, because she was being watched by someone well-versed in these rules and techniques.

Therefore, Adeláire decided not to apply the same to him here and now. It would only attract his attention further. So she strolled over the street with swinging skirts like any young lady, the appearance of which she'd wanted to give herself, and strayed ambitiously away from the cafe.

Again and again she gave her special senses a pulse to find out whether he was following her. It was only a few blocks down the road that she had enough security to use the next street corner to submerge purposefully. Even with the bagging skirts, it was easy for her to blend with the shadows. She took advantage of the numerous groups of people to move from one niche to the next and finally found what she was looking for; an open home's entrance.

Determined and quiet as a cat, she was driven into one of the empty rooms. With a relieved sigh, she peeled off the flowing skirts and released her cloak from its hiding among them. Selective and just relieved, she pulled her curly hair and tied it together at the neck. When jacket's hood overshadowed her face, Adeláire felt more like herself again. Even though she painfully missed her hidden blade.

No longer bound by the hustle and bustle of skirts, she strived to reach the upper floors and found an open window to reach the rooftops of Paris. She allowed herself only a short moment to enjoy the view before she began her hasty and ambitious course to her destination.

Adeláire struggled to forget the oppressive feeling of her encounter with Dorian, as the experience of it made itself painfully present again. She had just stepped on solid ground as she left the roofs, and was again punished for her lack of caution. She had slipped down a building and had not paid much attention to the open door behind her. A mistake that was corrected when a muscular arm wrapped vigorously around her throat and pulled her into the darkness of the house. She heard the characteristic, metallic snatch of a hidden blade and felt the cold steel on her left carotid artery.

Adeláire's reactions were trained through difficult training sessions, and so there was no great amount of thought. She threw herself to the side and rammed the body behind her right elbow in the pit of its stomach. It lacked the desired effect. All she heard was a dull “Hgngh” and a snap back of the blade. Good, at least a little improvement of her situation. Obviously her opponent didn’t want to kill her at once. That gave her the time to use her other elbow while at once trying to loosen the steely grip on her throat. Both of these, however, brought her even less than before.

Only when she crashed her head backwards and hopefully against her opponent's nose did she win her freedom. In painful memory that she was neither in possession of her blades nor her rapier, Adeláire preferred to seek her salvation in escape. Leaving the dense swathes of smoke from a dropped bomb, she began to disappear through the still open door, stumbling across the doorsill due to the jostling shoulder in her back.

No fancy roll saved her from her stumble and she knew that she had missed her chance to escape. She felt the relentless grip on her neck, and her muscles protested vehemently. She was pulled back tightly, dragged into the house and pressed against the nearest wall. This time the arm across her throat left little room to breathe. Gasping, she wriggled in the grip and felt that her opponent used his greater reach. He kept his distance and merely pushed her air off. His free hand was used to pin her right wrist beside her head on the wall. Even when she tried to kick the ankle of her opponent, he only parried and stepped deliberately back.

"A wild cat is easier to control than you, hussy," Dorian finally growled, panting. "Will you ever give up so I can ask you a few questions?" Did she actually hear a glimpse of amusement?

"That ... I've never…learned.." she croaked breathlessly to his question.

"Well, obviously not." Yes, this time it was clear. The situation amused him. He dismissed his hold on her and she collapsed a little, gasping and struggling for breath.

"So .." was all that came from him, as he took a step back and watched her. He fumbled a handkerchief out of his coat and looked after his busted lip, which had obviously been affected by her head striking him. Adeláire cautiously scrambled to stand and raised her glance to him. Dark, non-identifiable as gray or brown, his eyes. He eyed her with a variety of looks that ranged from suspicious to curious. Hardly a few things were still remembered, but the look of these eyes, which she hid in her memories. He had changed a lot.

"So ..?" She finally asked back, awaiting. That prompted him to put the handkerchief away, sigh softly and fold his arms across his chest to look at her more intensely.

"I don't think we have to play each other about being other than what we are. So, why were you in the café and why does the Brotherhood watch me? Even after such a long time?"

They had warned Adeláire that Dorian was smarter than he often appeared. She herself had never been able to enjoy a taste of that, so this now gave her the obvious proof. Well, after her change of outfit, there was really no longer any doubt about her affiliation. But that he immediately concluded it was the Brotherhood, that had surprised her, informing her next attempt.

"Who told you that I belong to the Brotherhood and that they sent me? I could be a free-operating assassin who was waiting for you for whatever reason in your café." She bit her lips again. The twinkle in his eyes told her that she had just stupidly betrayed herself, by admitting to have been waiting for him.

She straightened herself, feverishly thinking about how she could escape this situation. She knew her skills. And she now had an idea of his. The scale was not really balanced. With a worried frown, she noticed his soft smile.

"To be honest, I just don't know if you're serious about it, or if you just want to play games like a cat with her prey. I personally am very far away from the latter.” The last part of his answer was clearly something menacing. Adeláire suspected that she would not be able to drive this game too far.

"Be assured only of one thing, I will not harm you. And neither will the Brotherhood. If you just let me go my way now, you will never even see a hair of me again. Does that sound acceptable to you, Monsieur?”

It was an attempt. A worse one, she knew that. But who should condemn her? As if to emphasize her words, she raised her hands, not without shifting her weight a little, and then, in the next moment, a desperate jump through the still open door. Miraculously, this act of desperation was actually not withheld by her opponent, and she could use her momentum to look for the best route onto the rooftops.

She could feel that his eyes followed her. Why his body did not, she did not have the slightest idea. Adeláire was only glad that she had come across more information. However, the Council would probably be displeased that now another assassin would have to take over her task. Dorian had seen her face and he would make observing him again a difficult, if not impossible task.


	2. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another few steps taken by Adeláire to get thru to Dorian.  
> Might be interesting to investigate, what's happening to the former Assassin in the past 5ys after the Happenings around Germain.  
> But first things first. Babysteps to get to know him better. If he let's her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chapters are quite short at the Moment. Be asured, that will change soon.  
> Thanks for your Patience and i appreciate any Feedback.

\----------------------------------------------- Paris, Île Saint-Louis, April 1799 _\-------_

 

Waiting, and actually a good bit more unsettled, Adeláire crouched on a rooftop on the other side of the river, staring as if hypnotized over the Café Théâtre. She still could not understand the Council's decision to continue to rely on Dorian. They had even advised to leave her camouflage, and to simply be who she was. Assassin of the Paris Brotherhood, and one of the few women among them. She scolded herself as a stupid girl, as she spasmodically ceased her nervous habit, clinging to the buckles of her over-knee-high boots. She took a deep breath and swung herself down into the street. The Council had decided and instructed her. And unlike Dorian, she never questioned the Council.  
  
Adeláire crossed the bridge with great deliberation, and stopped again at the end. What was that in her that made her hesitate? Dorian had let her go once already. Obviously the Brotherhood still had to mean something to him, if he seemed hold to the creed of keeping his blades far from the flesh of innocents. That's how he must have thought of her in that moment. Otherwise she could not explain her escape, especially without any bruises. 

So immersed in thought, Adeláire was deeply ashamed to see Dorian waiting, leaning in the doorway of the cafe. When he was sure of his audience, he loosened his folded arms and beckoned her with a descriptive, inviting gesture to the inside of the cafe. This time she could feel her cheeks burning. She was like an absolute beginner. Embarrassed, she squeezed her lips a little and finally followed his inviting gesture. His light, amused smile, she tried to ignore demonstratively.

That couldn't be done with his composed, gallant gesture of pulling a chair back for her at the main table, just to the left of the entrance. Stiffly, she took a seat and registered the suppleness with which he was sitting opposite her. He had slid his hood off, onto his neck and the light in the cafe shimmered in his dark hair as he leaned back in the chair. Still, he had this gentle, enervating smile around the angles of his mouth, which left her gently uncomfortable. When he shortly turned his eyes to order coffee from one of his employees, Adeláire took a quick breath and forced herself to relax, leaning back in her chair.

"Nice to see you again Mademoiselle." There it was again, this softly amused undertone in his voice. What did he find so entertaining about their situation? She could feel a sort of stubbornness spreading inside her, and she illustrated it outwardly by folding her arms in front of her chest. Which led Dorian again, to an amused smirk.

"Likewise," it came from her gently pressed, which elicited a brief grin from his face. Once again they sank into silence, until the two coffees were parked in front of them. They looked at each other like two boxers, searching for a gap in the opponent's cover. Apparently neither of them came to a satisfactory conclusion.

"Well, maybe today you'd be so kind at least to tell me your name, since you imitate me in such an infinitely flattering way." Dorian sounded friendly, almost a little snooty. But Adeláire suspected that this would not be a friendly small talk. She wondered what vulnerability it would cost her, and decided that she was getting ready for the game.

"Adeláire ... Adeláire Fontaine." She loosened the entanglement of her arms and carefully led the cup of coffee to her lips. Did she mislead herself, or did his eyes follow her movement, and moved to the corners of her mouth in a strange pattern? His renewed smile distracted her from that thought.

"Very pleased, Mademoiselle Fontaine. Myself, I certainly do not need to introduce, as you, as my employees assured me, were already a frequent guest in this cafe. Besides, my reputation in the Brotherhood is certainly impeccable and without gaps." She saw the opportunity he offered her and decided to use it. Now smiling too, Adeláire set the cup down and began to relax.

"Oh, do not believe that after all this time you are still such a big subject in the Brotherhood, Monsieur Dorian. There are far too many other matters to be dealt with by the Council and the Assassins, who are subordinate to it. The activities of an exiled brother are surely more edge notices than daily headlines."

She could pretty well figure out the dangerous direction she was leading the conversation into. Even if Dorian was not who he was, scratching the ego of a man was never a particularly brilliant idea. And yet Adeláire had decided to let it go and lure him out of his cool reserve. Correspondingly provocatively, she laid down her arms on the table loosely and held his gaze, which kept its eye on her. Like a mirror of her own, Dorian imitated her gesture so that she could feel his breath on her skin as he spoke.

“And if I've actually become so unimportant to the Brotherhood, why do they put one of their best Assassins on me?" She saw the glimmer in his eyes, so close he was to her. Still, she merely raised an amused eyebrow, and continued the game of cat and mouse.

"Why do you think I'm one of the best? Wasn't it you yourself, who immediately identified me as a kind of threat and even followed me, undetected? What rookie mistakes did you notice me making?"  
Her tone was deliberately sugary and she saw that he knew it. His gaze glided over her features, her stature, her clothes, her weapons. When he finally returned to her green gaze, steel had entered the dark eyes of her counterpart.

"Well, Mademoiselle Fontaine, we'll spare ourselves more games. We both do not have the whole day here, to fraternize and waste our time. What do you want from me?"

Adeláire forced herself to maintain her position and withstand this cold steel. She felt her own features drop her smile and her mind raged to give him a conclusive answer.

“Bonaparte. How do you stand with him?“

He did not have enough control to hide the first moment of surprise. His posture dissolved for a moment of tension, then returned to relaxed. Again, this admittedly appealing and charming grin flashed over his face.

"That's what it's all about. Seriously? About Napoléon? I had made some assumptions, yes, but I admit, I had not come to this conclusion. What is it, the Brotherhood's interested in him?"

Adeláire enjoyed a brief moment of reflection and tried to read more in him than he gave. The steel had left his gaze a little and seemed to have given way to curiosity. How far could she go and give information before the scales broke and she lost his curiosity, which in the best case, would become genuine interest? If she had only had more time to really study him...

"He is going to be a very powerful man. And because of the still chaotic events of the revolution, the Brotherhood is interested not to let another possible threat into power. You know history itself well enough to know that the Assassins have always paid attention to balance and freedom. Nothing else is the goal at this time."

Deliberately, at this point Adeláire avoided informing Dorian of the Council's presumption that Bonaparte was in possession of a Piece of Eden. Still, she thought her words had been too thin to last long under the scrutiny of her table-mate. The course of their conversation proved her right.

The only reaction he gave her explanations was to sit back in his chair. His gaze still rested on hers, and the smile was still playing around his mouth.

"You know, somehow it is pleasant to meet someone who is so unrestrained, innocent and unprejudiced in the Brotherhood, the Council and the credo. Especially when that's no longer the case for someone like me." His gaze lowered and fixed the cup of coffee before him on the table. "I have found my own definition of the creed for myself. And so I have the dark idea that this still does not really coincide with the Council and the Brotherhood. Why, after all that has happened, should I give the Brotherhood information about someone like Bonaparte?"

When his eyes met hers again, there was something like heaviness and a profound sadness in his features. The silence between them, which followed his words, stretched, and the longer it lasted, the more closed his essence. Adeláire could literally feel the gap of the earlier still slightly open door narrow before her.

"Because you, despite everything that happened, are still an Assassin. And if there is only some conviction left in you, then you are at least a bit suspicious of Bonaparte. Why else did you snatch the artifact from the underground catacombs of Saint-Denis in front of his nose and get it delivered by the Brotherhood to Cairo? Why, if not, that he already showed you things which you meant to stop? The Brotherhood wants nothing more than to follow that first spark again. Is this so reprehensible? "

As before, Adeláire retained her attitude and kept her eyes and facial expressions open. She did not know what he was reading. But she hoped that he could feel the conviction and urgency, and be drawn by it. She did not dare to give any prognosis. So open her mimicry, so closed and impenetrable was his. He took his time. A lot of time. It almost seemed as if his thoughts were already digressing and again concerned with the urgency of the café when he finally took the word again.

"Well, you were honest and you said what you had to say. I'll think about it," he spoke and rose from his chair. "Feel as my guest today and stay as long as you wish. Good day Mademoiselle Fontaine."

With this he bowed his head briefly and turned to leave. His cloak bulged behind him before he disappeared into the darkness of the back rooms. Adeláire remained almost a little shocked and didn't know how to ract to it at first. Arno had left her raction unseen, hanging in the air as is slowly died down. When an employee finally came to ask her whether she wanted anything else, she declined with gratitude and rose. Dorian was not only a mystery to her, he seemed to be a proverbial book with seven seals. And she wasn't sure she could find a key to only one of the seals.


	3. Tracing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Assassin's on their way doin what they can best: assassinate Targets.  
> Adeláire's Meeting Marquis de Sade to gather informations and get unexpected Company.  
> First little insight, how she and Dorian work together.

\---------------- Paris, Porte Saint-Denis, Court des Miracles, May 1799 _\-------_

 

Disgusted, Adeláire repeatedly wrinkled her nose. Even the scarf, which in addition to the hood covered her face up to the tip of her nose, was not capable of keeping the smell of the Court des Miracles out. Just why were so many of the Brotherhood's informants found in this slum? Sighing softly, she gave herself the answer in her own mind. After all, it was beggars who always snapped information up everywhere. Eyes and ears begging on every corner could see and hear a lot.

"So let's go. In hopes that afterwards, a hot bath is waiting for me.” The renewed, quiet sigh after that thought, she could not resist. Since she had been unsuccessfully withdrawn from the Dorian Mission, the Council tried in other ways to obtain information. This was not her first, and certainly wouldn't be her last, visit to the slums.

Carefully and as skillfully as a supple cat, she swung herself from her vantage point and descended into the filthy alleyways, which seemed ever overpopulated. As many times before, her first point of reference was the Villa of the Marquis de Sade, where he usually used to hold "court". Since Dorian back then had helped him to gain the "post" of Roi des Thunes, he had come to the attention of the Brotherhood. A doubtful ally, certainly. But even so, most of the time, quite useful. Even if Adeláire profoundly loathed her dealings with him, she could scarcely escape the task and duty. So she gave herself a start and overcame the house threshold with some unwillingness.

As expected, the marquis "gassed" on his usual chaise longue and let the always affecting look glide over the audience. Here, Adeláire was like an aristocrat in her outfit. That secured her the immediate attention of the Marquis. His radiant smile and warm arms spread out to her, her hair already standing on end.

"Now, don’t simply stand around the entrance there, my love. Come in! Sit down and enjoy a wine with me." Delivered across the room to her, this exclamation attracted less attention than Adeláire had suspected. With a renewed sigh, she placed herself gently in motion at an appropriate and secure distance from the Marquis, and lowered her scarf.

"Adeláire, my love. How long has it been now that you blinded me with your beauty, and crushed my heart with your constant rejection of my advances?” This tone in his voice made her shudder and tighten her shoulders in a gentle defense.

"Obviously not long enough, if you still lament so heartily," she replied, with some effort, albeit charmingly.

"You nasty, nasty girl," the Marquis reproached, as he rose from his camp and stepped up to her. It took Adeláire all the willpower she had at her disposal not to retreat to the next wall before him.

"But tell me you're not here to break my heart again, right? What can I do for you today?" As he asked, he moved closer to her and his gaze wandered gloomily over her figure in trousers, boots and assassin coat. She would’ve liked to let her blade do the talking now, but she knew only too well that she should not let this important source of information dry. So she just stepped back, two steps away.At least, she tried to do it before she walked into someone at her back, who had been able to miraculously appear there. Already an excuse on her lips, she turned around and looked into his now well-known, dark eyes. Once again, Dorian's mouth twitched, amused.

"My dear Marquis, you will not make a decent lady any advances to embarrass her?" The amused smile intensified briefly while Dorian walked around her and took one of the many wine cups from one of the tables.

Adeláire felt the Marquis's gaze, still wanting to burn through her clothes. Now still accompanied by the amused looking gaze of Dorian. Sighing quietly, she did not declare this day to be one of her own and raised her hands defensively."All right, I surrender myself beaten. Against two libidinous guys, even someone like me cannot compete. I clear the field and will come back to you later Marquis. In the hope that you have satisfied your desire until then, and have been capable of a reasonable conversation."

The Marquis held his gaze where it was, and leaned gently toward Arno, who had leaned against the chaise lounge and sipped the wine, his eyes also resting on her.

"You were right Arno. She really needed quite a while to come here. Either she is not as bright as we've estimated her, or she is infinitely proud and too haughty to use the obvious choice of information. Has she given up so quickly on you?"

Slightly puzzled, her gaze changed from the Marquis to Dorian and back again. How could they have known that the Council would send her? The order had just been handed over to her this morning.

"No, she was quite persistent, as my employees assured me. Even before my goodwill visit to Léon in Franciade, she was on observation posts. And her little speech was more impressive than that. Perhaps she is under too great pressure?" A short flicker of a grin before Dorian sipped on the wine again. The Marquis turned to her, smiling, and approached her again.

"So my love, once again the question. What can I do for you?"Adeláire thought furiously, and her gaze was finally resting on Dorian. She decided that she could not care what he noticed. After all, her mission was not a big deal. So why make a secret of a simple question?

"Jacques Bissot, do you know where I can find him? His trail got lost here in the Cour. And if anyone knows where I can find someone who does not want to be found here, then you are." Waiting, she folded her arms in front of her chest and enjoyed the little piece of security that gesture gave her.

"Ahh, she is so .. businesslike .. That almost gives me a chill over the spine. What about you, Arno? Doesn’t it thrill you as well?"With these words, the Marquis again half-turned to Dorian while his gaze still adhered to Adeláire, like a bear's on honey. She almost did not dare look at Dorian. When she did, his facial expression was unclear. And he was silent on the Marquis's question.

"Jacques Bissot, Marquis. Could you help me or not?" She urged.

"Oh, of course I can," the Marquis replied, amused. At last he turned away from her and let her breathe. Delicately, he stretched out again on his chaise lounge and handed himself a fresh cup of wine.

"You'll find him in the sewers. He puzzled and plundered the secret hiding place of the former Roi. No idea what he hopes to find there but the bare bones that our friend left behind at that time. Isn't that right, my dear Arno?"

Dorian just gave a humming >Mhm<. His hood overshadowed what was not hidden from the wine cup. Was the memory of his former mission to him perhaps unpleasant?

"As you still know the way down, my dear Arno, wouldn’t it be a gallant gesture to accompany and protect the lady? After all, it's still dangerous down there!" The Marquis's tone dragged on Adeláire's nerves. Excessively anxiously played, yet so loud that it would equate to a loss of face, to now grant a rejection. Thus, she hoped to do Dorian a favor with the excuse she offered him with her next words.

"I certainly belong to the last group of people in Paris who need protection. I can protect myself very well. But thank you for your offer, Marquis. I'll be fine. After all, Monsieur Dorian did it back then as well." With a sweet smile, she briefly tipped her head to the two men, who now both fixed her with unreadable glances. Before any of the two could reply, the Assassin turned away and strove to exit.

Outside, she breathed deeply, albeit cursing the idea at once because of the stench, which now enveloped her.

"One of the many entrances can be found right there. Come on. The faster we go down, the faster we can get out again." The voice urged her ear unyieldingly as Dorian pushed past her into the outside.

"What do you think you're doing? And who the hell is 'we'?" She knew that it was amply dumb to ask these questions, but she simply could not suppress them. His dark eyes were barely visible under the hood and in the twilight of the streets. But she felt his attitude as if he were pressing her to his body. No matter what she would say or do, he had made a decision and this he would follow.

"Well, I'll be with you so I can remove two things from my list at the same time."

"And what two things would those be, Monsieur?", she snapped, which again brought her a grin on his part.

"Well, on the one hand, to find out what you want from the good Bissot. And secondly, who you are and what you want from _me_." That self-assurance in his tone was slowly enervating. Did he only want to irritate her to the blood, or was he really so convinced of his uniqueness?

Adeláire decided to put these questions behind and focus on the mission for the moment. Resolutely, she turned on her heel and silently headed to the designated access-point into the ground. She did not have to see his amused smirk to know it was there.  Just arrived at the previously mentioned entrance, Dorian took leadership, unasked. Obviously, he actually seemed to remember the way he had taken years ago to find the Roi. Past several wooden shacks, it soon went down into the sewers. Adeláire knew again why she had grabbed her shawl today. If the stench above ground was already disgusting, it climbed down into the immeasurable down here. She tried to breathe flatly, not to notice too much. It was apparent she didn’t really succeed.

"As soon as we get closer to the former hiding place, the air will get a little better. Until then, just try to breathe flatter," Dorian's voice had assumed a repose that she had not been able to identify. She simply left his advice alone in the room and followed him further into the depths.

As they passed through one of the openings into the branching room behind, one of the many in the Paris sewers, Adeláire stopped at Dorian's outstretched arm. Silently, he put a finger over his lips and nestled into the shadows of the passage they were about to leave.

On the other side of the aisle, Adeláire made her way to the passage. She concentrated and spread her perception into the space beneath her. A deep breath and she could feel Dorian doing the same thing. So the rumors were true. He was not only a gifted assassin, but he also had these special gifts, which only a few had in the Brotherhood. Like a mute response to their observation, their eyes crossed each other and each of them knew what the other had just noticed. It was too dark to read the expression in his eyes, but his hand signals were clear. They would divide the opponents perceived among them.

Adeláire nodded silently and went down to the crouch. Silently, she pushed herself to the border of the wooden platform and peered over her edge. There he was, a bull of a guy. She tilted her head gently, finding the best spot for her blade.  A brief glance to the side assured her what she already knew. Dorian crouched by her side and had the other guy in his sights. A second short nod and they jumped down in elegant synchronicity at their opponents.

It was only in the jump that Adeláire extended her blade. The sound which caused it came much too late for her opponent, his reaction much too slowly. Without any obstacle, the sharpened blade slid into his throat, causing him to collapse instantly lifeless. He lacked even the time to make a single sound. A similar dull sound on her side showed her, that Dorian's attack had been equally successful. That left the last two at the other end of the room.

Adeláire remained in a crouching position and crept along the wall to one of the two opponents, who was warming his hands on a small fire. Without once again having to speak out, she could see from the corner of her eye that Dorian was acting similarly on the other side. As Adeláire stood still as a deadly shadow behind her goal, she briefly noted that Dorian was not quite so lucky. His prey turned too early to him and made a terrified exclamation.Adeláire did not hesitate for a second, drove the blade into her goal and prevented his scream by way of her hand over his mouth. She hurriedly turned to her last opponent just to watch Dorian's elegant kill. The blade slipped silently into the heart, while he also suppressed every other sound by means of a damping handgrip. Like a wet bag, the body eventually sank to its knees.

"Sewers. They’ll never be free from rats," was the only mocking comment Dorian dropped. Adeláire left his comment simply so and looked around.

"Are these guys carrying anything interesting?" Dorian wiped his blade on the coat of his last opponent and rose.

"Defines interesting." Adeláire went to a crouch and patted down her last victim.

"Well, no idea to be honest. Maybe some orders, keys, clues. Rats always find something."

"Not quite wrong." That prompted him to search their first two victims. But neither of them had any luck.

"Apparently only some poor souls. At the wrong time in the wrong place." Adeláire sensed more than she heard her regret. There she was again, the always recurring question. Had they really had to kill these men?

"Down here there are no innocent souls. Do not torture yourself with such thoughts." She turned her gaze to Dorian's dark shadow-shape. The small fire flickered and made his recognizable features look distorted. She felt a hesitation at him before he suddenly lifted his arm and squeezed her shoulder briefly. Before she could react appropriately, the moment was over. He turned his back on her and urged deeper into the darkness of the sewers.

After some windings, branching rooms and platforms, they finally reached their destination without any further incident. The hiding place of the former Roi was a dome-shaped, circular room. Plumped with all sorts of home-accessories, seeming a palace. And somehow, the room seemed to be anything but relied-upon for years.

Adeláire and Dorian looked for shadowy cover and explored the room. There was an unexpected, busy activity. A whole army of men not only scoured the room, but seemed to use it as a kind of headquarters. Apparently, under the nose of the new Roi, a conspiracy ensued. Adeláire thought about why the Marquis had spoken so willingly to her. The guess was, that de Sade knew very well about the situation down here and once again meant to use the Assassins to solve his problems. Dumbly, she glanced at Dorian in his cover and could see from his cramped jaw muscles that he had probably drawn the same conclusions. His gaze crossed hers, suggesting a temporary retreat to discuss their strategy.

As soon as they had had enough distance between themselves and the "headquarters," Dorian gave a more than filthy curse.

"He really dares to do it again and again that lousy ..." the rest of his sentence he pinched himself from completing, when he remembered, that he was in the company of a lady. At least as far as his mind was concerned. Adeláire felt that he reflected her own anger. But she forced herself to clear her thoughts.

"Nonetheless, my goal is somewhere among them. And if the aims of the Brother-hood overlap with those of the Marquis, then it is probably once again so. The question is, how do I get to Bissot without a small war?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest and began to pace back and forth.

"Well, fact is, you can’t do it alone." Dorian's tone was unmistakable and she could feel his stubbornness almost physically, causing her to stop her pacing and to fix his eyes.

"This is not your fight. I did not ask you to stand by my side. And you do not have to continue. The goals of the Marquis overlap with my own, not with yours. Therefore, go and let your anger out on him. For you, it should not have the same consequen-ces as for me. I'll manage this. Somehow."

The silence that followed her words was deep, long, and filled with heaviness. It drove an uncomfortable feeling down over her spine and she had the sensation of sinking into a sort of grief. It was too dark to be able to see Dorian's eyes, but the bitter train around the corner of his mouth told his own story.

"I once let someone go alone into a fight. I will not repeat that mistake."

Like two stubborn donkeys, the two Assassins stood facing each other and tried in mutual stupor to move each other to back down. Adeláire felt that there was much more in his words than he said. This seemingly oppressive heaviness overwhelmed more and more, like a kind of shroud over both their statures. And so it was she, who, yielding again, lowered her head and sighed softly.

"All right then. If you want to die today, so be it. I just hope you do not look for me as a ghost." That actually brought quiet laughter from her counterpart.

"What makes you so sure that it’ll be my death, which we find here? And if I swear not to visit you as a ghost, then I ask for the same promise in return."Adeláire could not help but answer these words likewise with a soft laugh. She raised her gaze to him and for the first time imagined something like a gentle pull around the corners of his mouth. Did she actually slowly began to like him?

"Let's go ... Brother ... There are a few bad men waiting for us." The words followed a renewed flash of this short, charming grin and a mute nod.

Dorian had led them both to the passage, behind which his target had been waiting for him, heightened over the entire room. Adeláire had to entitle him the right, this was the optimal place to get an overall view of the situation. The two Assassins flattened themselves on the stone floor of the pedestal and explored the space below. For the purpose of a whisper, they were close together and cupped each other their ideas on their ears.Adeláire, after a while, had to force herself to concentrate on the mission. The extreme proximity irritated her and she argued in the mind with herself that she paid more attention to Dorian's warmth, his breath, and the tactile play of muscle on her side, more than the movements of her enemies beneath her.

Finally, they decided to empty the room some by using the Berserk-Poison in their Phantom Blades. Adeláire sought a tough opponent to her left, while Dorian did the same on the right side of the pedestal. Twice a faint click followed by the siren of the Berserk Blade, the dull noise of the two hits, and the turmoil among the ones below began.It amused Adeláire every time when she could observe the effect of the Berserk-Poison. How their opponents got to slashing each other and virtually took over her work. Early on, she had learned to be patient with such actions and to allow the poison to perform its impact. Too-early intervention on their part would only diminish the desired effect. Because of the mass of men, however, that effect was much too fast and the two victims were quickly overwhelmed. Time to give the field a little rest and look for the next targets.

The Assassins threw their tactics up three times, until the enemy field had reduced to a few men. Other groups were too far away for the Phantom Blades, as well as for poison bombs. So it was, that they now had to rely on handwork. With a nod they swung themselves to the right and left of the platform, sinking their hidden blades with synchronous air assassinations into the unaware, waiting enemies below them. Smoke bombs filled the room, and Adeláire clarified her vision through her senses. Pulsating, she made out her coughing opponents and one after the other, they fell victim to her blade or rapier. Her movements seemed more like a dance than a fight, and she almost led herself to the hum of a soft melody.

As the smoke slowly moved, she meet up with Dorian again in the middle of the room, now breathing a little heavier. Shortly, a grin flashed in both their faces as he suddenly grabbed her around the waist and turned with her. His blade cut through an opponent who had tried a desperate onslaught. Adeláire's attention swarmed through the room, and she registered just a few more shooters. Using the momentum of her joint rotation, she pulled her pistol and came before the attack from above. The crash of the 8-barrel resounded in the dome-like space and let a silence follow, which gave an idea of what would happen next.

The two Assassins broke apart and turned their backs against each other. The Rapier in the one and the hidden blade extended in the other, Adeláire faced the onslaught which countered her from one of the channels of the sewer. Newly thrown smoke bombs filled the room and an attack, dodge, parry began his dance again. In all this chaos, Adeláire tried to capture her goal. But so far, Bissot had no trace. Had they put themselves in danger for nothing?

When the smoke cleared again, Adeláire slowly retreated into the middle of the room, facing her final three opponents. She heard Dorian, more than she felt him, at her back. It seemed as if there were not too many opponents left facing him. The first of the last three men attacked Adeláire and got her rapier. The second supposed to see his chance and ended up with her hidden blade in him. She wanted to eliminate the last with her pistol, but was surprised by missing ammunition. Could she really not actually count correctly?

Still caught in that thought, an arm stretched out over her shoulder and Dorian's Phantom Blade landed a clean headshot. Her life saved twice in one day. If she did not owe him something now, then when? Breathing heavily, she straightened up and felt his chest lift and lower at her back, as breathless as she was. For her taste, he was far too close to her. And his breath brushed her face, too intensely noticeable.

"Everything ok?" he whispered softly near her ear. Why did she suddenly have such a lump in her throat? The Assassin just nodded and put her rapier back in the belt. She emphasized a step away from Dorian and looked around searchingly.

"Merde, bon sang! Where is Bissot?” she cursed softly. Behind her, Dorian also put his sword back into his belt and his tone sounded amused as he answered.

"Should a lady really curse in such bawdy terms?"

"Should a lady feel like she killed thirty men?", she snapped back. He answered with a grin.

"Touché .. that probably depends on the lady."

"Well, you see." His tactical patterning, which glided up and down, she pushed aside skilfully as she searched among the men for someone who was still capable of answering. A low whine finally led her to a half-dead soul. Unyieldingly, she grabbed the guy by the collar and pulled him closer.

"Bissot .. Jacques Bissot. Where can I find him?"

Whimpering and whining, the half-dead man raised his hands defensively, and after another threatening look, he pointed toward stacked boxes at the edge of the room.

"Thank you." Adeláire smiled sweetly and let the man go. When she got up, she turned her back on the whimpering thing and thought briefly. Her eyes met Dorians and her decision came to maturity. With an elegant twist, she sank again to her knees and finished the man with her blade. Dorian was right, no one down here was innocent. And leaving behind witnesses had never been a good idea. The two Assassins mutely turned to the crates and found a passage to another room behind them.

Adeláire pulled out her pistol and reloaded it. Then she snuggled herself to the doorkeeper and sent her perception into the room beyond. Dorian did the same. A test of the door handle revealed what they had already suspected; locked. Dorian crouched down and began to crack the lock. As the last bar snapped softly, he gave the door a gentle push. Still in the uplift, Adeláire stepped past the still crouching Assassin and scanned the room with pistol and senses. She did not have to look to know Dorian was ready to fight.

Her objective was hiding behind one of the chairs and screamed in horror at the opening door.

"Oh no, please do not, I have done nothing! De Sade is wrong when he thinks I'm conspiring against him. I just want to build my own small business. And why let it all degenerate here? Please, please do not kill me!"

All this and still more, he whimpered, whining while Adeláire slowly passed through the room. When she arrived at Bissot, she put her gun back into the holster and looked at him disparagingly. She sensed that Dorian was following her and was busy observing the room.

"Reassure yourself. We are not here to kill you. And if your men out there had not been so stubborn, they could still be alive. I have only a few questions."

The lanky man with the crooked, powdered wig dared to move slowly out of his hiding place. Adeláire, demonstrative, stepped back a few steps, leaving enough space to stand up and straighten himself. Nervously, Bissot tapped the dust from the coattails before he once again dared to muster the two Assassins.

"Well, I guess, if my death had been decided by Assassins, then I'd be dead already." His gaze fixed on Dorian, who in the meantime leaned, with his arms folded, against a side-board on the opposite wall.

"Do not look at me like that. This is the contract of the lady, not mine." With which he raised a hand defensively before he restored the entanglement of the arms.

"So, what do you want to know Mademoiselle?" His voice now sounded officious and regardful. Adeláire did not trust him for a second.

"Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès, what can you tell me about his plans?" Adeláire did not like as her counterpart, frightened and in shock, seemed to lose all attitude from his face. He started a babbling stuttering, regarding his lack of knowledge about anything, and about how he would have to deal with such high-ranking people. By the end of her patience, she grabbed him by the collar and pressed him to the nearest wall. With an almost aggressive snarl her hidden blade sank from the bracer and poked his skin just above the carotid artery.

“I'm really a patient girl. But I do not like it if you try to cheat me or unnecessarily raise tension. So I advise you Monsieur, do not overstretch it, and tell me what you know."

Her voice was lowered to a soft growl, recalling the hissing of a wildcat. She sensed her temperament deep inside, and knew that the last attempts to curb it were already crushing away.

"Yes, yes, yes, all right. I'm already talking. Even if I know nothing concrete. I have never seen or read any plans. All I know are whispered rumors on corridors that spread lies. But if they are true, Sieyès is planning a sort of coup d’etat. He is supposed to make it clear that he is looking for a > _sword <_, which is supposed to be > _as short as possible <_. Whatever he may have meant. He wants to meet General Joubert as soon as he is back in Paris. More, I really do not know. Honestly! Promised!"

With a characteristic snap, her blade slid back into the bracer and she let Bissot go. With a gentle smile and a snappy

"Merci mon ami," she finally turned away from the wailing creature. As she passed Dorian, he stopped her.

"Do you have everything you need from him?" His eyes fixed the pile of misery and did not let it out of sight.

"Yes I think so. He no longer works for Sieyès. Personally, I hardly believe that he can provide more up-to-date information. However, I dare not assess how the Council sees this." Something about his attitude made her wary at her words and almost did not need her next question. "Why do you ask?"

And she was right. Before she could intervene, his arm stretched out, and a new, clean head shot of the Phantom Blade made Bissot lifeless. Dorian's eyes crossed hers. The lines around the angles of his mouth were hard.

"Because I, contrary to you, had the mission not to let him escape from this situation alive. I just wanted to make sure our goals were not in conflict." Adeláire held his gaze steadily.

"So are you now no more than a hired assassin, who can be engaged at any time by a disgusting subject like the Marquis de Sade to eliminate his enemies?"

Dorian pushed away from the sideboard and lowered his arms to his sides. Adeláire noticed how his hands closed into fists and the fire in the room reflected in his gaze.

"You should be more careful with your judgments, Mademoiselle Fontaine. Not everything is always as it seems at first sight. The Marquis had a still-open favor with me, which he has herewith redeemed. How this fits into my personal morals is none of your concern."

There they were again, the two stubborn donkeys, who were looking at each other and pressed the other to give a piece of ground. This time it was Dorian who cleared the field.

"It was really nice to work with you. You really are damn well-educated. You will certainly get very far in the Brotherhood. Good-day Mademoiselle Fontaine." In the next moment, with a gallant bow, he went past and out of the room. Adeláire looked after the vanished shadow for a little while and did not know whether she should get angry or laugh. She decided on neither of the two and left the battlefield and carnage that two well-trained Assassins were capable of leaving behind.

 


	4. Indecent Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more steps to get Dorian into the "Mission-Boat".  
> But dealing with a former Assassin Brother isn't always as easy as you might think.  
> Specially when he is classified as smart and sharp.

\---------------------- Paris, Sanctuary of the Assassins, May 1799 _\-------_

 

For hours, the three Masters of the council seemed to be arguing over how to proceed further regarding Sieyès. Adeláire patiently waited with her arms folded behind her back. She had delivered her report completely, and had always given the same answers for what felt an eternity. She therefore allowed herself a very restrained breath, as Master Trenet finally ended the discussion with an energetic gesture."Enough, gentlemen. We should come to a decision. And before we decide and act rashly, we should tackle a last attempt to attack at Monsieur Dorian.

"That caused more turmoil. Adeláire knew that Master Beylier didn’t particularly like Arno and that he was glad, that the young one had been exiled. How Master Quemar stood on that issue was mostly unclear. Adeláire, however, always assumed a certain sadness when he spoke of Dorian. Master Trenet, like Mirabeau, had seen great potential in him. If true, then she mourned more for an excellent Assassin, than for the man himself. Why they had given Dorian back the management of Café Théâtre when he returned from Saint-Denis was a mystery to her. Had they hoped to win him back? Sighing, Adeláire squeezed her shoulders for a moment and made up her mind to wait further.

"I said enough. And I am reluctant to repeat myself gentlemen,” Master Trenet snarled finally, relentless. Her eyes ignored any further gesture of her colleagues and pinned to the young woman in front of her.

"Assassin, the Council here again gives you the order to move Monsieur Dorian to work with us in terms of Sieyès and Bonaparte. To this end, you are given permission to use any average value, and with that we really mean _any_ average value, to achieve this goal. It is of delicate urgency that we get access to Bonaparte. And as timely as possible. Do you understand?"

Adelàire had lowered her arms and head in front of the councilors during the official address of her title. Now, she raised her eyes and eyed the three masters.

"Forgive my inquiry, but what does the Council understand by any 'average value'?" Not that Adeláire had no idea what the three masters wanted. She simply couldn’t really believe she was being asked to do so.

"Now Mademoiselle Fontaine, we think you know very well what we mean. You are a woman. Dorian is a man. And as far as we know, he has always remained alone since the events surrounding the Silversmith. For someone like you, it should be easy..." Adeláire felt her temper rise in seconds.

"Forgive my possible disrespect, but is that the only reason why my person was set on Dorian and not someone else? Because I am a woman and the possible way of a seduction is open? Shall it tell me, that my abilities are found only between my thighs? Is this really the way the Council and the Assassins are working now?" She could hear the hissing in her voice and wondered in the next moment what the consequences of this bitter failure would be for her. Her burning gaze remained fixed on Master Beylier, when he took the word.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Fontaine. This is _one_ way the Council and the Assassins work. In shadow, hidden, undetected, secret. If even a Master Assassin such as Claudia Auditore was not too fine to lead a brothel for years, where should there be a problem for you in such solutions? If you do not feel empowered to work and think in this way, we should probably review your rank as an Assassin again. Should we, Mademoiselle Fontaine?"

Adeláire's hands were opened and closed in front of withheld anger over and over again. Master Beylier's gaze was hard and cold as stone, meeting her fire with stoic equanimity. Master Trenet didn’t seem pleased, but she didn’t contradict. Master Quemar considered deliberately the papers scattered on the table. Angry and helpless Adeláire finally surrendered, her head lowered.

"No, Master Beylier. I will do as the Council orders." Her voice was pressed and accompanied by a controlled breath. Without losing any more, Adeláire turned on her heel and strode out of the sanctuary. It was not the first time that she frowned at one of the Council's decisions. But this time was the premiere of what could be called complete disagreement. Did it start the same way with Dorian, back then?

 

\------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, May 1799 _\-------_

 

"You've chosen an unusual place for a meeting." Dorian's voice sounded balanced, not at all strained from the climb. Smoothly, he crouched down beside Adeláire and let his gaze wander over the city below.

"Up here I can think the best." And that was exactly the way her voice sounded, thoughtful. She still did not know whether her decision to ask Dorian to talk was really the smartest. But since the Council's order, she had not been able to think more clearly. He seemed to her to be the only person currently able to understand her confusion.

"I'm always the same," came quietly from him. A side view clarified what she had already guessed. He looked at her now, and no longer the city.

"Do you want to talk about it or just sit here and enjoy the view?" He accompanied his words with a soft smile and the bright sunshine of this pleasant day broke in the observing, now clearly brown eyes.

Adeláire rose uncomfortably and pushed past him. Balancing on the rooftop of Notre-Dame Cathedral, she began to move up and down. She wondered how this conversation with Dorian should be the most sensuous.

"Surely you remember the information Bissot gave me... us… right?" Dorian confirmed her question with a dumb nod. He seemed to perceive her inner struggle and didn't want to disturb her.

"Well, it is so that the Council has found out that Sieyès apparently really prepared something like a coup attempt. He has very few men at his disposal who could be capable of such a coup. And, as you probably have already guessed, Bonaparte is one of them." Dorian turned his gaze from her and let it cross the city again. He remained silent in expectation that she was certainly not finished with her speech. Adeláire bit her lip briefly and wondered what her next step should look like. She decided to take a risk.

"In addition, the assumptions that Bonaparte is in possession of a Piece of Eden are condensed. The one you saved in Saint-Denis does not appear to be the only one in France. And who knows what he has found in his campaign in Egypt? It could even have been more than one. But even if it were only one, Bonaparte poses a greater danger than has previously been assumed."

Dorian was still silent, his eyes fixed on the city. Adeláire felt her insecurity and forced herself into her next move in this warlike conversation. Cautiously, she approached the assassin and went into a crouch next to him. Hesitantly, she laid a hand on his forearm, and directed his attention first to that touch, and finally up to her hopefully open, and surely begging glance.

"Please Arno... We need your help... I need your help.."

With an indistinct mimicry Dorian raised his left hand after a little while and stroked a strand of hair behind her ear. A gentle smile appeared in his features, and his gloved hand came to rest on her neck. A gentle pull made her bend over to this man, who seemed to be so different in the radiant sunshine.

"You know Mademoiselle Fontaine, I have already confirmed that you are damn well educated. And this here, well, this here only confirms my assessment.”

Cold ice ran down Adeláire's back. The same ice, which was just entering Dorian's eyes. His grip pushed into her neck and grabbed her closer. Adeláire knew only too well that it was only necessary to stretch the right muscles to drive the hidden blade into her throat. She held her breath, panting, and could not help but to endure his gaze.

"You must be very devoted to the Council, or simply desperate if you are even willing to use such instruments to achieve your goal."

"Believe me, I ..." Dorian's eyes became still a little way harder.

"Ah, ah .. do not try to get yourself out. You are here because you hoped to be able to reach with female charms what the Council demands of you. Any different argument would be a lie. And believe me, I do not like lies from such a pretty mouth as yours." A dangerous smile crept on his face. He held onto her neck and pulled her closer, nearer to him. So close, that she could feel their breaths crossing each other.

"And now that we've cleared that up," he whispered softly, ”we can certainly discuss whether we can find another way of agreement." With that, he suddenly released her and rose. Gallant, he submitted a hand to her and helped a more-than-confused Adeláire to her feet.

"So, any other ideas, Mademoiselle Fontaine?" His gaze and facial expression were cleansed again, and the sun seemed to have brought the warmth back into his dark eyes. Adeláire was still trying to gather herself and finally shook her head silently until she found her speech again.

"To be honest, I found the idea of _this_ route quite questionable. And I feel I am not unscrupulous enough to think about other questionable ways. At least not when they are dealing with an Assassin brother." She let her gaze wander from Dorian in the direction in which the sanctuary lay roughly. “Perhaps Master Beylier is right and I should concentrate on other tasks in the Order." Her conclusion came only softly muttered, but Dorian decided to react to it.

"Master Beylier is a bullhead, buried in his rules and in love with his post. Do not be alarmed by the old man."Adeláire smiled gently and went back to the crouch on the roof. Her gaze wandered over the city again, before she looked at Dorian from the side. His likewise crouching appearance seemed relaxed, his gaze fixed on the past.

"You had the most differences with him at the time, didn’t you?" Dorian responded with a quick laugh.

"You could call it that. I think he was against my admission to the Order from the beginning. Even though he "voted" for it when Mirabeau questioned them all. No idea what caused him to do so. But surely he was the first to question me. And maybe he was the one who saw the truth at first.”

Dorian looked down at his hands and let the hidden blade go out with a movement of his wrist. The sunlight broke out briefly in the steel before the deadly instrument disappeared again in the bracer. Adeláire sensed the thin ice of memory and thought it too early for deeper questions. She stayed silent.

"Well, anyway. So, Mademoiselle Fontaine, do you have an idea how we can clarify our opposing positions and can find an agreement?” The smile he gave her had almost something roguish to it. As if he had a plan that pleased him more than a little. That tempted Adeláire to her next reply.

"Why do I have the dull feeling that it’s you who has the idea?" That intensified his grin.

"I knew you were a smart girl. Because I really did. Meet me this afternoon at Café Théâtre, then I'll tell you more about my idea."

Before she could answer any further, Dorian rose, spread his arms, and thrust himself off the rooftop, down into a Leap of Faith, caught by a suitable landing zone. Deep below her, she saw him jump out of the cover. He looked up at her, raised his hand to his temple and gave her a gallant greeting before he merged into the crowd. Adeláire sensed more than she consciously chose, how her smile followed him.

 


	5. Persuading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unusual way, to "discuss" the way of working together. But maybe not really unusual for Assassin's.  
> And in the End, Assassin's are only men and woman as well.

\------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, May 1799 _\-------_

 

Towards the beginning of the afternoon, Adeláire arrived at Café Théâtre, as desired. As the sun still shone from a cloudless sky, the terrace in front of the café was well filled and she had to push past busy tables and chairs. The twilight inside did the eyes well and the Assassin looked around from the entrance. When her gaze fell on the staff in the look-out, he pointed silently towards the staircase in the back. Dorian seemed to expect her in private rooms on the first floor. Adeláire was not sure if she thought this was good or not. With tightened shoulders she stepped up the path and looked again searchingly.

Just to the right of the staircase she heard sounds that seemed familiar to her. Therefore, it was obvious to follow it. This led her steps into a spacious exercise room, which presented her a surprising and amusing picture.

Dorian had put down his usual coat and posed in combat in the middle of the room. Except for his shirt, trousers, boots, and bracer, he had apparently waived all the rest for these exercises. His weapon of wood crossed with that of his opponent, the boy whom he had approached with, Léon. And obviously they were not playing this "game" for the first time. Adeláire watched as Léon cleverly dodged an attack, and feinted Dorian's.

"Yes exactly. Very good Léon!" Dorian praised his little disciple.

"When I go so far, I will one day be as good as you!"

The boy's voice crowed with excitement. That seemed to tempt Dorian to a little nastiness. He cleared the boy's next attack skillfully, tripped him and gave the rest of his shaky balance a slight push of his wood floret. Léon, inexperienced, landed flat on his stomach and gave a surprised and slightly painful sound.

“That was unfair!” came at once the protest.

"Excuse, but your opponents mostly do not fight fair, mon ami. You better learn it from the beginning, rather than later, when the blades are sharp."  Dorian reached out a hand to the boy, helped him to his feet, and ruffled his short hair.

"Your master is right, Léon. Faithful fights are rare out there.” Adeláire gently smiled at Dorian before her look came to rest at the boy. His look appraised her with curiosity, and a little disparaging. Apparently, he was just at the age when boys were not particularly interested in girls.

"Is this the odd friend of yours, Arno? The one who wants something from you?"Adeláire pursed her lips and leaned against the doorway with her arms folded. Her gaze fixed Dorian, and with a playful, sugar-sweet eyelash-flutter she raised an eyebrow questioningly. Was there actually such a thing as embarrassment ascending in this otherwise so self-secure assassin? If so, it gave her a soothing inner satisfaction.

"Eh, Léon, this is my guest, of whom I’ve told you. This means that our practice is finished for now. Maybe we'll go on later, oui?" Obviously, Dorian tried to cover up his embarrassment by pushing the boy gently but strongly out of the room and closing behind him the heavy wooden door, whose protests he completely ignored. Shortly after, he seemed to think, then even lock the door. He also did the same with the second one on the other side of the fireplace. This now caused Adeláire's other eyebrow to rise up inquiringly.

Full of energy, Dorian finally turned to her again and apparently did not know at first, what to do with his hands. So he decided to just lower them again and to play off the gentle embarrassment.

"Very nice, you accepted my invitation. Coffee? Or do you want to go straight to business?" During his question, he crossed the room to a steaming cauldron containing the well-brewed coffee. Adeláire could see in her observation that he was aware of her gaze and that his attitude was slowly changing, adapting to the new situation.

"A coffee would be really charming." She played with the sweetness of her voice. She was curious how much it would take in order to lure this boyish and extremely, appealingly attractive nature out of him again. Unfortunately, she had to recognize too quickly the stiffening in Dorian's shoulders. And so it didn’t surprise her, that he was just as closed again as he was when she had first met him, when he turned to her with two cups of coffee in his hand. Sighing softly, she went up to him and, thankfully, took one of the cups.

In a gallant gesture later on, he invited her to the roof garden next to the practice room. He moved directly to the stone wall of the balcony, leaning against it, with his back to the river, leaving her a place on the small stone bench in front of it. The two Assassins silently enjoyed a few sips of coffee while Adeláire tried to look around inconspicuously.

To the left of her, two glass wing doors stood open. She could see that Dorian's coat was thrown over an armchair, and some books and papers piled on the desk. Were these his private premises? She was interrupted when Dorian noticed her probing and prohibited it, demanding her attention.

"So, Mademoiselle Fontaine, as I have already emphasized, I thank you for following my invitation. Am I right in assuming that you now want to know what kind of agreement I’ve come up with?"

Adeláire raised her eyes and studied the smiling Arno. If he were not who he was, one would have thought that some beau was schmoozing his beloved one. But he was who he was. Therefore, his over-kind manner made her suspicious.

"Well, curiosity is the cat's death. But I would not be here if I were not interested in hearing what you're suggesting." That brought a new smile from him. Was it odd to say that it drove a horror down her spine?

"Oh, very simple. I thought, since we both are apparently excellently-trained in the arts of the Assassins, why don’t we just… fight for the decision?"

There he was again, that gloomy shadow which seemed to descend over Dorian whenever he pushed his enemies into the narrow. This seemed to be a characteristic of his own, which was probably hardly brought into the Brotherhood. His voice took on a hardness and intransigence, of which there was to be hardly any contradiction. Adeláire therefore tore herself together with all the hardship, and held his gaze. At last she rose and reduced the height from which he looked down at her.

"And how... exactly.. have you imagined that.. Monsieur?" it came quietly lingering, questioning, from her.She saw the flashing in his eyes. Not amused, belligerent. He seemed to have very carefully considered this, and somehow Adeláire could not get rid of the feeling that he was happy about it.

"Very simple. Behind us lies the exercise room, ideally suited for a... Training. A fight without any tools. Only two Assassins and their hidden blades." His gaze slid down her and up again. He grinned at her charmingly. "Which would mean, you need to get rid of some of your things.”

Adeláire could not resist her next, mocking remark. Dorian's template was simply too well chosen.

"A truly inimitable, charming, and admittedly unique way to prompt a woman to defoliate herself." His grin intensified briefly, but his glance remained where it was. There was nothing gamy in it, that made the joke pure and pleasant.

"Oh, do not worry Mademoiselle. You will not have to… Defoliate yourself more than I, myself will. And if necessary, I will gladly make a promise to this assurance."

Was it just her or did Dorian just play with ambiguity? If she had only been able to get to know him more closely, a reading in him would have been much easier for her. So she had only to give him a suspicious look, which made him grin again, before he stepped back and once again gallantly invited her back to the practice room.In the twilight of the room, Adeláire sought a place to stow away her belongings. She began to put her weapons down and loosened the belt around her waist. She was sure that Dorian suspected she was deliberately taking time to think. Her thoughts snapped behind her forehead as she clinged her bracer and finally put it down on one of the tables.

"What you have not explained yet..." she threw into the room without turning to him, "...is whether it will be a fight to first blood or… Death?" She praised herself inwardly that her voice was not trembling.

"What would we gain from the death of each other?" The counterquestion came, even-tempered, calmly. "I'm sure we'll notice it in time if a winner is settled."

Adeláire pulled her cloak over her shoulders and laid it carefully over the back of a chair. This meant that now she would only have to reattach the bracer with the blade, so that the battle could begin. She was all too aware of the sharpness of the Assassin's weapons. Both her own and his. That made her flinch briefly as the characteristic snap of the out-and-in sounded behind her. She was still fiddling at her phantom blade when she finally turned to her opponent.

"Well, I hope you have thought of ordering a doctor in the house. Somehow I get the dull guess, we will need him.” That wrested a deep breath from her, and from her opposite, a smirking grin.

"Trust me Mademoiselle, none of us will find our death today. That would really be more than useless waste." Adeláire breathed deeply again before she went into a defensive position.

"Speak your mind to whoever might hear..." Again, this charming smile flashed at her opposite, before he also went into basic position. The dance could begin.

And as expected, they first began to tax and circle each other. Each of them knew that it was not the smartest strategy to start the first attack. Too much was given to the opponent. But forever, they could not just swarm around each other. Perhaps it was attributable to Adeláire's impatience and youth that she finally dared to make the first move.With a low step in the direction of Dorian's ankle, she placed a first feint. It was countered with the expected response of an evasion backward. Adeláire elegantly used her swing to turn around her own axis, planning to change the rotation into an upward movement and land a kick to Dorian's head.However, his counterattack had her attack bounced on his underarms. Still further, he seized her ankle and, on his part, began a kick. She had thought about this possibility, yet was half surprised. It was so, that she couldn’t manage her reaction to it perfectly and he succeeded to get her out of balance and force her into an escape roll.

Hardly back on her feet and he was now the one who took the offensive. Steel hard, his hand clasped her left wrist and pulled her intently toward him. His blade went out of the holster and pointed towards her heart. If Adeláire had not turned at the right moment, surely the first blood would have flowed. If not now, then when would she realize how serious Dorian meant it with this fight? Shortly, the two opponents withdrew and their gaze fixed on each other.

"I expect more commitment, Mademoiselle Fontaine. After all, _you_ want something from _me_. So fight for it and don’t play around like a novice.” His tone was cold, judgmental. And something in Adeláire decided not to let this happen. With an aggressive snap she drove her blade out and went into the next attack.

Her blade hit with a metallic rub against his, as he dodged her attack to the side and diverted the energy. Still in the same movement, he rammed his shoulder into her side and brought her almost to a halt again. It forced her to another roll off before she slid smoothly back to her feet. A wild swap of blows followed this first, really serious attack, and they did not have much time to breathe. Adeláire was therefore greatly astonished when he found air to talk.

"Is that all you have to offer Mademoiselle? Are you really sure your education has already been completed?" Adeláire suspected what he was doing with these mocking remarks. And she decided to ignore the provocations emotionally.

"And what about you? No wonder the Council has thrown such a snooty and arrogant Crétin out of the Brotherhood. Nothing but snobbish swaggering!” She threw him her words as a provoking gauntlet. A thought flickered through her head.

_Let's see who can be provoked to stupidities here first, you bastard._ His grin, just before his next attack, showed her, that he too knew quite well what she intended with her reply. Slowly, Adeláire began to wonder how much time they would have to spend on this "game.”

He seemed to be about to make another provocation as he abruptly changed his plan. Instead of placing a frontal attack, he spun around with a twist and put a painful kick against her knee. Adeláire narrowed in grief and half-collapsed. With clenched teeth, she limped, paced one, two steps away from him, only to end with her throat in an unyielding grip.

In the normal case, this would be the moment when Dorian would break his opponent's neck with his final turn. But he stopped and shifted, wanting to move her to surrender, but Adeláire did not agree. Before she could begin to squeal in her head from air deficiency, she pulled out her blade and drew her hand over his unprotected thigh. He ate it with a growl and it caused him to loosen his grip briefly. This was enough for Adeláire to sink a little into a crouch and push him with a swing over her shoulder.

The desired effect, to be freed from him, only half-succeeded. His left hand, still at the back of her head, immured into Adeláire's hair and threw her down with him. It elicited an irritated hiss before she found herself lying with her back on the floor, his blade hovering over her heart. He had still positioned himself in the twist and the brawl over her and now pinned her body with one of his knees on the floor of the exercise hall. The free hand clutched her throat again, and breathing heavily he grinned down at her.

"I think that is probably a 'one-to-zero' for me."

That gave Adeláire a smug smile. Her left arm moved only a few millimeters, but unequally instantly Dorian realized the fatal error he had committed. How would a man feel when a hidden blade "tickled" his best parts?      

"Are you absolutely sure about that Monsieur?"

His eyes darkened briefly and a _Merde_ slipped snarled out before this amused smile stole itself again back into his features.

"You fought clearly with quite unfair instruments Mademoiselle. I admit, I didn’t expect that, and I owe you my respect." He grinned again. "Let's take this round as a dead heat." With that, he rose and left her enough free space to elevate herself.

Indeed, she didn’t get any time to take a deeper breath. Adeláire had expected, and hoped a little too, that he would first look at his wound. But without a trace or tell, he went over to his next attack and seemed ready to give the scales of the fight a push in his favor.

Adeláire felt her sweat slowly begin to flow down her spine. And she had to admit that she hadn’t been able to enjoy such a fight for a long time. Because it really was a pleasure. Ever since her combat instructors had asserted that they could teach her nothing more, she felt she had only fights against defeated opponents. But this here, with Dorian, this was a challenge. Shortly, she felt a smile around her mouth as she again stepped out of one of his feats and tried to kick him out of balance.

"A smile Mademoiselle Fontaine? Still time to find this amusing? I'm impressed." She parried his blade and gave him a strong blow against the jaw with her hindquarters, which actually staggered him.

"Don’t try to understand a lady, Monsieur Dorian. Better men have already tried."

Both of their breaths panting, Adeláire could see that this "game" seemed to him as much fun as for herself.

"Oh, that I quite believe Mademoiselle. But regarding the lady, well, I dare seriously doubt now."

He parried her fist attacks with cover and started to break hers by trying to tear Adeláire from her feet. She jumped over his sweeping leg and attacked his shoulder, which was relieved by him. Smoothly, he came back to his feet. Wisps of dark hair now adhered to his forehead.

"Haven’t we already clarified the issue with the lady?" Adeláire clearly gasped a little breathless.

"Oh, I don't know. Let me test the subject again."Adeláire was aware of her mistake only too late, when he had already wrapped her wrist and turned himself around the axis with immense impetus. It was just that swing that swept her from her feet and hurled her to the wall, which had been behind Dorian moments ago and against which her back now crashed, that pressed the air from her lungs. He had actually succeeded in getting her out of step with his words.

And this time Dorian did not make the mistake of disregarding her blade. Even before she could gather herself, he had fixed her wrists against the wall in a steel grip. He undermined her possible further counter-attack as his body pressed her own against the wall. The weapons and the shield, which hung representative at the wall, bore painfully in her back. With a soft growl, the Assassin tried to wrestle between him and her prison. But this time, the superiority of male strength was really her weakness.

"So, now ... how was that with the lady?"

Her green eyes glared at him with poison. Why didn’t it surprise her when he stole her last breath with a kiss? It flickered through her as if she had caught fire, before she realized what was going on. _Oh, no, my friend, you can’t take victory so easily._

Adeláire made herself consciously soft in his arms, knowing that the man had never felt the difference. She put passion into the response of his kiss and twisted in his grip. Dorian, however, proved again that he was not stupid. He retained the steel-hard fixation and Adeláire felt as he started to retreat. Now it was necessary to react quickly. A last turn, a jerk and she put her right knee up.

A typical gesture for a woman? Yeah, sure. But it was and remained mostly effective. Unless you fight an Assassin brother. Adeláire's attack throbbed on his thigh, which had slipped into her knee just in time. Dorian gave a restrained sound of hurt as her strike hit his wound. Only slightly did he release himself from her and grinned charmingly in the blazing poison of green eyes.

"Yes, very clearly. No lady." He let go of her completely and stepped back into the middle of the exercise hall. "Now you must admit that we have achieved a _two to one_. I could declare myself a winner. But somehow I would find it unfair to you. What do you think?" This mocking in his tone slowly dragged on her nerves. Adeláire broke loose from the wall and tugged at her sweaty blouse, enjoying the gentle wind blowing in through the open doors.

"Well, it's your hall. So your rules apply. If a third round is to decide, who am I to refuse?" That brought her a new smile. And something she did not know how to interpret. Something new about him, for her.

The beginning of the third round was quieter, slower. Both of them were not yet at the end of their powers, but already far from being "fresh." Now it was necessary to plan every attack deliberately, since the opponent was given much more chances to bring his goal out of balance. But what made the scales worse for Adeláire was that his kiss still burned on her lips.

She no longer registered the game of his muscles with a view to warding off his next attack, but simply took up his movements. She noted, that she moved more to evade, than really went over to find a weak spot. She scolded herself inwardly regarding so much unprofessionalism and forced herself to push these thoughts aside. More erratic than anything else, she rushed forward and tried to get Dorian out of step. His counterattack moved her further tripping, and she landed stumbling in one of the armchairs of the exercise room.

"Concentration Mademoiselle. You certainly don’t want to give me the victory so easily, do you?"

In short Adeláire resignedly lowered her shoulders before she got up and turned to her opponent again. She could feel an ice-crease enter her. She greeted them, because the Assassins only knew them yet when she focused on a particularly dangerous target. She could see that Dorian perceived the change in her. His facial expressions left in the frailty of a moment every waggishness. With the lowering of his arms, his hands clenched in fists, and he drove out the deadly blade.

Adeláire took a few steps into the room and did the same. She jumped at him, and she almost thought, she could feel a slight growl in her throat. With a loud, metallic snarl, the blades met and filled the room with the sound of their next repartee. Neither of them gave up ground. The struggle had gained a new intensity, which elicited their last reserves.

Adeláire gasped as his blade slashed her blouse and reached the soft skin below. She felt the blood swelling, but did not devote to this any distraction. She preferred to take the opportunity to pay him back. A gap in the cover and her own blade found his unprotected side. Only his last, desperate evasion prevented the steel from penetrating deep into the flesh and slashing only the skin.

Adeláire suspected that, if they went on, they would probably kill each other. That they were both stubborn, had already proved more than once. Which didn’t prevent her from throwing herself at Dorian with all her weight. He only remained to capture her wrists and to oppose her. She was so close to him that the Assassin could see that he too was slowly coming to the end of his strength. But just like her, by the devil, he wouldn't give this up for anything.

With a final effort, Adeláire turned her wrist in his grip. She snapped the blade back and twisted her body laterally to Dorian's. She used the now lightly changed position to abruptly lower to a knee and use Dorian's counterweight to let him roll over her. Before he could get up, she followed him with the remnants of her vigor and swung herself over him. Like himself at the beginning of the fight, she was now the one who fixed his body with her knee on the ground.

_Blade, Adeláire, put your blade on his throat_ , it always sounded in her head. But she felt an immense heaviness and exhaustion that burned her muscles. She had nothing left to bring this to an end. And amazed, she noted that Dorian seemed to be doing the same. Breathing heavily, he lay with his arms spread out on the floor of the exercise hall, and simply muttered, replying to her gaze. Did he give up? Adeláire was stunned. No muscle excitement suggested that he seemed to be willing to try to raise his arm and pull the blade out. He just lay there, breathing and observing.

Adeláire sunk over him. This time she was the one who took the last bit of breath, gave him her own and burned both of them in the unknown fire of her kiss. His arms seemed to regain their strength, while his hands went to her neck and tied her to him more intensely. Blood and sweat were completely ignored. The slight pain in touching the wounds meant only that they were alive. Was this dizziness in her head due to these wounds, and if not where did it come from? Adelaire didn't care, and Arno seemed no different.

"That... We should let that... That is exactly what the Council wanted", she whispered softly, close to his ear as his hands searched their way under her sweaty blouse.

"Yeah, well... We should probably..." he muttered quietly only to use a last swing so that she found herself lying under him the next moment. He held a distance and looked down at her, a gentle smile around the corners of his mouth.

"Do you want us to stop?"

His voice was darker, rougher. Brown eyes were looking for hers and found an answer in their green, which he surely already knew. Gentle fingertips stroked her brown hair from her forehead and caressed her temple. In curiosity, his thumb lined her lips. Presumably as a physical answer to his question, her thighs fit around his hips as if by themselves, and her hands wandered into his sweaty neck hair.

"To hell with the Council."

Like a quietly blasphemy, the whisper seemed to her, but it hit exactly what she was thinking. She would later reproach herself. Now her world, her thinking and feeling, turned only around a much more obvious goal. And it didn’t matter to her that she'd played into the council's exact plans, the same ones that she'd spat on a few days ago with such anger. She'd think about all the complications, _later_.

 


	6. Soulshreds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Man and a Woman gets to know each other better. That they're both Assassin's is just an coincidance.  
> But for both it's a thin line, how much of their past they reveal to the other.  
> Interpersonal Relationships are never easy. Especially not, when there are so much wounds left. On both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Moment the last Chapter. A little.. steamy... one.. ^^ .. And a long one.  
> More hopefully will follow, when SparkedSynapse has more time for Lectoring again. :-)  
> Stay patient. There are waiting over hundred pages more. :)

\------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, May 1799 _\-------_

 

Dorian finally ended up exploring her feminine curves and sparked away from her. His breath was as deep and heavy as hers, as he rose, and silently gave her a hand. His move to help her to her feet ended only when their lips met again. Adeláire felt a hunger blaze up, mirrored by her counterpart.  
  
Stumbling and laughing quietly like little children, they traversed the roof garden and strode towards the two open, glassy wing-doors of Dorian's private room. Inside, Arno closed the doors behind himself without letting her out of his sight. Smiling, Adeláire took a few steps back until she felt his desk behind her. He crossed the room with two or three reaching steps, and again, with a greedy kiss, nestled between her thighs. Adeláire suspected that Dorian knew quite well what a woman liked. Not only did French men have a natural inclination to such arts in their blood, she also had the slightest idea that for the last few years he'd been anything but a eunuch.

As soon as they'd rid each other of her sweaty blouse and his shirt, a knock at the door disturbed them. Arno stopped for a moment and put a finger over his lips.

"Monsieur Dorian? Are you there? We couldn‘t find you in the training room. The cuisinier needs your agreement on the next week's purchases."

Arno had let his employee talk as he explored Adeláire's gooseneck with gentle lips. When her speech through the door seemed to be finished, he lowered his hands on the desk beside Adeláire and his forehead on her shoulder.

"Just a moment... Célestine..." the words came easily humming from him, before he approached his much more desirable goal. He spared himself the need to throw a shirt on, and turned to the door. Adeláire behaved as a frozen rabbit, and could only hope that Célestine wouldn‘t enter the room. Her blouse lay out of reach somewhere on the ground. So she breathed, flat and quiet, as the door swung open and Dorian tried to provide enough cover for her.

Adeláire mutely thanked the room's architect for the desk being covered by a well-filled bookcase on three sides. It was impossible, from the doorway, to make her out sitting on the desk. Curiously, however, the Assassin couldn‘t help herself, spreading her senses to "observe" the conversation. Her gently wobbly vision showed her how the maid, who was still very young, radiated an awkward heat when Dorian, with his bare upper body, stepped toward her.

"Thank you Célestine, I‘ll take care of it promptly. Is there anything else?" The maid lowered her gaze and her hands tugged deeply insecure in her skirts.

"Ehm... Uh... No... Mon.. Monsieur. Good day, Monsieur..." which almost led to a non-stop getaway, if she hadn't been halted by Dorian.

"One more thing, Célestine. Would you please put water on for a bath? I'd like to get rid of the training sweat."

The girl still didn‘t dare look up. Did she have a secret interest in her boss? Amused, Adeláire supported her feet on Dorian's desk chair, then her arms on her knees. The maid's curtsy was agitated and her skirts rustled as she fled, barely muttering an "Ainsi Monsieur." Dorian closed the door and turned smiling to his last goal.

"So... Where were we...?" he spoke and crossed the room again in a few steps.

"You should know well enough," the answer came from Adeláire softly. With a worried frown, her fingertips wandered from his side to his thigh. “You should have your wounds supplied by a doctor.”

That only made him turn his fingertips from her shoulder, to her arm, and down to her belly. Adeláire broke her stance and leaned against the bookshelf at her back. Her gaze wandered over this man, who still seemed to her a mystery despite the intimacy that had just begun.

"I don‘t need a doctor," his gaze slid into hers and fixed it. "And I don‘t want any... Now..." He supported himself on hands beside her, and leaned toward her. "Do you?" Her kiss spared any further answer.

There it was again, this hunger. For Adeláire still unclear whether this really was linked to Dorian in particular, or if it was simply too long ago that her desires had been satisfied. It didn‘t matter to her at all. She enjoyed his caresses and worked at the buckles of her boots until Dorian pulled them from her feet. He did the same with her trousers, and finally, bare as she was now, reached around her hips and moved towards the rear corner of the room.

The pillows of his sleeping-room felt soft and comfortable. Not big, but adequate. The fire crackled pleasantly in the opposite corner. He got rid of his boots before, smiling, he followed her retreat to the back of his bed. Sighing softly, Adeláire felt her body lolling as soft, warm lips explored her skin. She felt that he was still wearing his dressing-gown as he nestled between her thighs again. This kiss, when he had finally found his way up her neck to her lips, was clearly fulfilled by both no longer wanting to wait. All the more surprising, as he fulfilled her wish without any further "warning”.

Sighing and tasting, they enjoyed each other, and Adeláire repressed every thought of shame, of being ladylike, or of the council. Her fingertips explored the muscles of the man over her, and she dropped into the divided kisses. An insane little thought shot her through the head; that she had never shared this with an Assassin Brother. So far, she had always looked for gallants who didn’t make the mistake of following her when she felt the need to end the "relationship." How would it be this time?

As they pushed each other higher and farther into passion, such thoughts and feelings were no longer necessary. When it finally broke down over them, they stifled their mutual noise in another, deep and this time, passionate kiss. The sweat of the training was now mixed with that of shared passion, and left them both breathing heavily, in wrinkled blankets and pillows. Now Adeláire knew why Dorian had ordered water for a bath. And still caught in the heat, she already silently thanked him for it.

"Heaven, am I still wearing my breeches?" was the first thing which Dorian, after a while without words to breathe, expressed. Adeláire couldn’t help but laugh as suddenly as possible, which led him to prop himself up on an elbow beside and to look down at her. His mimicry testified that he was playing offended and at the same time trying to suppress a laugh.

"Please, what's so funny about it?" In his tone, his own distinct note of sharp sarcasm. Adeláire didn’t bother, on the contrary, as she suddenly noticed. Still laughing, she raised a hand to his temple and caressed a dark strand from his forehead.

"So if I had to interpret it, I would say, that this circumstance is due to an intensity of a certain need. But if you see it differently, you may correct me."

In response, Arno grinned briefly, and this attractive, charming boy glanced up at her, sending a shiver down Adeláire's spine. She guessed that her kiss would convey that, as he leaned down to her slowly, and playfully caught her lips.

More sluggish than really demanding, fingertips once again explored reheated skin, letting lips follow their path. Not enough to make the intense hunger flare up again, but enjoyable enough to make them unwilling to stop. When Arno started again to intrude more intently, he abruptly interrupted his intention and distanced himself.

"So no, I'm sorry. That doesn’t work out at all." Adeláire blinked at him confused and saw mischief flashing in his eyes. With renewed energy, he lifted his hands and knees beside and rose above her. His gaze held hers, as she squirmed, smiling and deliberately seductive under him.

"Salope[1]," he whispered quietly, which caused her a mock horror before sinking into a catlike flashing smile and slipped with her thigh along his own. He gave her a breathtaking kiss, before he swung himself completely off the bed. Almost with quiet sorrow, Adeláire turned to the side to watch him. With a completely new feeling, she absorbed his movements and the play of his muscles.

Mute, he finally rid himself of his breeches, which apparently seemed to be his plan the whole time. He wrapped one of the towels around his hips, grabbed two apples from the fruit bowl and finally returned to her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and leaned against the post of the wooden bed, while he offered her one of the fruits.

Adeláire snuggled around him and supported her head in the palm of her hand. She could feel their glimpses gazing each other in a new way, while at the Moment neither of them seemed willing to entertain themselves. It was as if they shared different thoughts, which were nevertheless connected with the fact, that they were turning around these strange developments. After all, he was the one who again took word first.

"I have to admit, that didn't feel like being with a man is something new to you. Correct me if my impression deceives me." Adeláire smiled gently. She bit into her apple and took her time with her answer. She thought about what to say, to answer him best.

"Right, your impression does not deceive you." She looked straight into his eyes and held her gaze open. "Disappointed?" It didn’t change his facial expressions, but had him just rotate his apple in his hand.

"Well, no. A little surprised. So far, I've only known the two extremes of a woman. Very experienced or… not at all." Suddenly, that mischievous smile flashed again.

"And somehow I feel like it's going to be fun to explore that." That in turn brought Adeláire a straight, mischievous grin.

"Who says you'll get more opportunities?" His mock horror amused her and gave her another bright laugh, strengthened as he pinched her in the rear. With an also mock “oww!” she hit his hand. That just caused him to catch her wrist and pin it to the bed.

Adeláire could feel the flashing in her eyes, while she laid the still unfinished apple on the small table beside the bed to try to keep her other hand free. Before she could do anything, though, Arno had thrown his own apple carelessly on the bed and swiftly captured her second wrist.

Smoothly, he pushed her into the pillows, while only their eyes met each other. Adeláire felt this burn again ascend and suspected to see it reflected in the depths of his dark eyes. His hands clenched her wrists over her head and, despite her whole training, he had enough of a strong grip to keep her defenseless. It stifled Adeláire, as if she'd been hit with a whip and it ripped a low gasp from her.

Dorian seemed to have a very precise idea of what his mood would stand for this time. No costly lips that wandered over her skin, no bodies nestled against each other. Only playing fingertips, which wandered over her heavily breathing chest down between her thighs. He bared her gaze with his, such that she couldn’t even close her eyes as she felt the hunger blaze like a lingering plume of fire. She could only guess what he was able to read in her eyes at that moment.

His answer to her pressing fold came so abruptly that it tore a tempestuous wheeze from her, and she reeled briefly under him for a moment. His gaze still held her own, so that she felt more naked in front of him than ever before a man. He had his own impulses in this game so under control, that Adeláire was not even able to recognize whether he enjoyed it or not. He seemed to be researching _her_ and wanted to keep himself out of it.

Powerful and purposeful, he pushed Adeláire forward, and finally he let her see and feel the fire in his eyes. His free hand thrust between their bodies and found her lap. A cry escaped Adeláire, which this time was not dampened for the ears of the house. As if by herself, she rebelled again under Dorian and drowned in the darkness of his unyieldingly captivating, searching look. It was only when the sensations had grown too intensely over her that she found the ability to break away from the view, close her eyes, and fall completely into emotion. This was definitely new for her. Was this the answer to the never-asked question, whether it would be different with an Assassin brother than with a "normal" gallant? For the moment, she didn’t care at all.

Again, she sank breathing heavily into the pillows, and had moreover by the way registered, that Dorian had shared her passion. For the moment, they were both lying on their backs in the battered sheets, and stared at the wooden canopy.

"Where the hell do you learn something like that," it came, still slightly hoarse, from Adeláire. That gave the man beside her a faint laugh.

"Where do you think, from the light-hearted ladies, of course."

"Okay, I'll never judge those light-hearted ladies again. If they are able to teach men things like _that_ , then please, just do it so." Adeláire giggled silently while Arno leaned on an arm beside and looked down at her. Caressing, he stroked her from the temple to the upper body, where his warm hand came to rest on her still wildly-beating heart.

"I always wanted to know how decent ladies react to this little... Trick." There it was again, this boyish grin.

"Didn’t we already clarify this 'Lady' thing several times?" the laughter came quietly as a counter-argument. His eyes looked at her face, as if he were examining it for the first time.

"Well, I'm not sure which definition you fit into. Maybe there is none for you. Or, I just don't know it. Not yet, anyway." A gentle smile played around his mouth. "Who knows, maybe we'll get enough time to answer all these questions." Whereupon he bent over to her and gave her a long, tender kiss, which ended abruptly when a knock at the door interrupted again.

“Monsieur Dorian? The… the hot water should be ready." Once more, it was Célestine's voice which penetrated through the wooden door.

Dorian broke away from Adeláire. A biting grin, a short wink, and he swung over her, out of the battered bedroom. It crossed Adeláire's mind, cold as ice, that he would have to let his servants in and that they would immediately be aware of what had transpired. While he gave a, "one moment Célestine," Adeláire pulled the sheets around her and searched for an escape route. She could feel the heat already rising up her neck. Dorian wrapped a towel around his hips again and turned, smirking at her search for escape.

"I think hiding from the servants is superfluous. Even if they haven’t noticed anything, my private life is, for them, absolutely nothing at all." He considered his words briefly. "However, I can’t decide about your... Virtue. If you want to preserve inviolability, there that goes, up to the attic." With a grin, he accompanied his words by pointing to a ladder which led up between the bedroom and the fireplace.

Adeláire actually considered for a brief moment. At last, however, she let her shoulders sink with a sigh, wrapped herself more tightly in the sheets, and at least left the compromising bedstead. She made herself comfortable in the armchair, at what should probably be a dining table.

She knew the café was a trans-shipment point for the Assassin network. If her Tête-à-Tête with Dorian were of any interest, then it would relatively promptly land in the network, and thus, at the Council. She could only hope that nobody paid much attention. Obviously, Dorian had given her enough room for her reflections when he turned to the door and let his staff in.  
Célestine bent slightly with a steaming bucket of water filled to the brim in her hand. She tried very hard not to give the half-naked woman in the sheets a too intense look, and turned straight right around the paravent to the bathtub.

Dorian ignored the following servants and turned to his desk. Gratefully, he took papers from one of the helping hands, which probably affected the everyday concerns of the café. Every now and then a frown glistened over his face. Interested, Adeláire watched him with his attention on this new page. He had run the café for several years now, and had so far succeeded in guiding it through the turmoil of the revolution. With relatively little harm, even. That once again spoke for his being nobody's fool.

"Monsieur, we've finished so far. Do you want anything else today?" Célestine kneaded nervously at her skirts and held her eyes embarrassingly lowered. Obviously, Dorian had never before appeared to her while only wrapped in a bath towel. He didn’t, however, look at her, just continued to study the papers.

"Thank you Célestine. Something to eat would be nice." He turned to Adeláire. " _I'm_ almost starving, at least. What about you?" Célestine again gave the "lady," who had been wrapped up in sheets, a very short, polite glance.

"I agree with him. Something edible would be excellent."

"Great," came from Dorian. "Nothing with too much effort. Simply something more nutritious than air, love, and apples." The young servant immediately turned red as a beet.

"Oh, and would you be so kind as to look after Mademoiselle's and my clothes? The training has cost us a lot of... Blood and sweat." If it were even possible, Célestine's red turned even more intense and with rushed haste she collected the scattered clothes. Subsequently, the young servant left the room almost in a flash. Arno's wide grin met with Adeláire's smirk.

"Are you always so mean to the poor thing?" His grin turned into a thoughtful smile, then finally returned to a grin.

"Yes, I think so. You can just tease her _so_ easily."

Adeláire grabbed one of the apples from the bowl next to her and threw it specifically to strike Dorian. Quickly reacting, he _just_ caught in flight.

"Didn’t I say something _more_ nutritious than apples?"

Adeláire smirked and had to admit that she liked this relaxed Arno very much. A small, evil voice in the back of her head wondered how long this mood would last. But for the moment, he put the documents aside, came up to her and handed her a gallant hand to help her up. Adeláire wondered how they would ever get together in the tub, but at the same time she was certain, that he already had a plan. And she was right. Even though it could truly be described with the word "cuddly", they found enough room to both enjoy the warm water. Sighing softly, she finally brushed the freshly washed, wet hair from her neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Pondering, his fingertips wandered her arm.

"So, tell me something about you." His voice sounded warm in her ear. Nevertheless, Adeláire gave him a little confusion as to this sudden change of direction. She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Hmm... What do you want to know?"

"Don’t you know that it's rude to answer a question with a counter-question?" There it was again, the sarcastic mocking tone.

"Well, you could start anywhere on such a general question." His fingertips wandered over her forehead into the wet hair.

"Well, I'm assuming that the research on me was probably quite intense before you were attached to my track." Adeláire pursed her lips briefly, which seemed to him to be enough confirmation.

"Therefore, I find it just as righteous if you would give me a similar dossier. Or what do you mean?" So, after that he was driving.

"All right, I'll try. I am the child of a French father and an Italian mother. Unlike you, my mother was the one who joined the Brotherhood here in Paris. My father tolerated her, as he always called it, "madness," and I often heard him pray for a safe homecoming. I myself didn’t understand for a long time what my mother was doing. I just knew she was different from other mothers." Adeláire briefly remembered her beloved parents. A chill ran over her skin and she lowered her arms into the warm water. Arno simply put an arm around her shoulders, as if he knew what would come next.

"They died. Both. Templars. Even my father, completely unknowing and innocent, was not spared. If Assassins hadn’t intervened at the right moment, they would probably have even killed me. So I was the only one who got away with my life. And from that moment on I grew up in the Brotherhood. Master Trenet accepted me as her ward and trained me until I was old enough to enter the Order. And well, since then, I know hardly anything else." She thought for a moment and decided to finish her speech with what was still circulating in her head. "...and never wanted anything else."

Dorian was silent for a long time. As if he was listening to the question of whether she wanted to tell him more or not. Would he notice, that she had only told him half the truth? That she concealed from him the part that hurt too much?

"Had we ever crossed paths... Back then?" the words finally came, soft and thoughtful. Adeláire smiled gently.

"Yes, indeed, we have. But I hardly believe that you had eyes for a 16-year-old hussy, who was rumbling somewhere in the halls of the Sanctuary, watching the training of the Assassins. To be honest, I've spied you and Bellec most often when he once again threw one of his many shouts of “Pisspot" at your head or lamented about Mirabeau."

She could feel Arno moving uncomfortably at her back before he deliberately relaxed again. Embarrassed, she moved from him a little, to be able to muster his features. He had turned his gaze and seemed to direct it to the past.

"Forgive... I... have thoughtlessly prattled," Adeláire stammered, embarrassed.

"It’s all right. It’s very long ago. And... I would always do it again."

His voice sounded rough, as if there were much more in the memory than merely the fact that Arno had killed his instructor, his mentor. The reasons were even clear to the Council. It hadn't done much to prevent Arno from spending a long time not being what he was: an Assassin.

The heat returned to her veins as his gaze turned to her again with a sad smile and he kissed her forehead, soothingly. With his arm he pressed her back to him and she felt both of them begin to relax again.

"Why did the council count especially on you?" His voice sounded reserved but not suspicious. Adeláire thought about his question and what she should say to it.

"Hmm, to be honest, I'm not quite clear about it myself. There are surely more experienced assassins than me." She muttered cheerfully on her lower lip. "Perhaps because I’ve never joined any judgment on you. I didn’t know the reasons why you were exiled. Even Master Trenet didn’t even once talk to me about it. But somehow I was always sure that there were _cogent_ reasons on both sides." She hesitated briefly. " _Had_ to be..."

Her conclusion was as if she wanted to believe it with all her force. As if it were otherwise so, that the foundation of her faith in the Council, the Creed and ultimately Master Trenet, shattered if that was not so. Almost by the way, she noticed that Arno behaved strangely quiet behind her.

"I had to decide back then. Between my duty to the Brotherhood and the Creed, and..." He swallowed hard. "...Love."

Adeláire suddenly felt cold, despite the still-warm water. She hardly dared to breathe, so intensely did she feel the heaviness of the feelings of the man whose arm was still around her shoulders. She would have liked to find the right words for him now. But something told her that much more had happened than just what he'd said. So much more. The silence lasted until Arno was apparently willing to return to the here and now.

"Why didn’t you join a side, pick an opinion, a camp?" came the quiet question. Which inspired Adeláire to think again. This man really had the ability to focus on the essentials and to continue researching them on a point-by-point basis.

"Hm, the statement didn’t reach me, that you had simply broken the rules of the Brotherhood. What I had heard of you back then didn’t match the Arno whose image they wanted to draw for me a few years later. I wondered what could lead someone to break the Creed, who initially joined the Order for redemption." Again she bit her lower lip. "You know, it was all like a church window, which was not put together correctly. And somehow it was impossible for me to decide who was right and who was not." She raised her hands thoughtfully from the water and turned to look at them. "And maybe there isn’t something like right and wrong at all. Perhaps we are, the Assassins, those who live in gray more than we are aware of." Her words were followed by a long silence, accompanied by soft lips that caressed her temple.

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear so softly, that she almost thought she had not heard.

"Uhm... What for?" slipped from her, confused.

"For your mind to be so open. And so sharpened, that you don’t simply follow just any statements and guidelines." He hesitated thoughtfully. "And maybe you're right. Perhaps that really was Master Trenet's ulterior motive to choose you, of all the others."

"Or maybe she just dares me the most.” Adeláire continued. His smile was perceptible for her. He lowered his other arm into the water and enclosed her with it as well. She could feel his breath on her skin as he lowered his chin on her shoulder. In Adeláire gnawed a question, which she scarcely dared to ask. Lost in thoughts, her fingertips slipped over his forearm, where his blade was usually found.

"Ask. What do you want to know?"

Almost shocked and with a feeling of being caught, she shrank briefly in his arms. She had not the faintest idea as to whether the ice was still too thin, where she was about to walk.

"Who... who was she...?" finally emerged with hesitation, and somehow from her dry throat. She felt his arms around her upper body grow heavier and heavier. It took a long time for Arno to decide if he would like to respond.

"She was a Templar. And she let herself be devoured by her revenge." Again a straining silence before he spoke. "And she was the love of my life since I could think."

There it was again, the overwhelming need to now be in possession of the right words. But Adeláire didn’t want to think of anything that wouldn’t have sounded ludicrous, pathetic or just stupid. It took no detailed explanation to know after what he'd said, that this woman was no longer alive. It wouldn’t have been necessary to remember the Council’s words, that Arno would’ve remained alone since the events surrounding the Silversmith. Numbly, Adeláire took his arms and pressed her cheek to the nearest one. She didn’t know how long they persisted, until the servants knocked on Arno's door again.

"Monsieur, we bring the desired food." It finally tore Dorian out of his rigidity.

"Thank you Célestine. Bring it in and put it down on the table please." His arms snuggled around Adeláire's upper body, so she wasn’t compromised, even if someone were to creep around the corner of the screen. A gentle smile flitted around Adeláires's mouth. So sarcastically sharp, threateningly dangerous and boyishly teasing Arno was, so very gallant he could be. If she didn’t take care like hell, this man had immense potential to have her completely fall in love with him.

This thought swept through her with such horror that it made her almost jump as if bitten by a tarantula when Célestine had finally left the room. Hastily she stepped out of the tub and searched for the sheets to wrap herself into them again.

"You don’t happen to have something to wear that you can lend me until my clothes are dry?"

The questioning frown on his forehead, she ignored deliberately, and with deliberate distractability inspected the treats that Célestine had brought up. Dumbly, Dorian looked for a shirt for her, along with knee-length pants, and did the same for himself. Finally, he set her chair at the table and with a kind of almost embarrassed redness, she also adopted this gallant gesture. Shortly thereafter, he stopped behind her and looked at her, as if she were suddenly completely unknown to him.

Finally, he turned away and tied the wet hair together at his neck. He snaged his desk chair and settled down opposite her. Still his eyes searched and sought to fathom her.

"Are you going to tell me what thought you just got so frightened of? Or will you let me die as a stupid man?" She tried to whitewash her momentary uncertainty with a waggish grin.

"So, letting you die as a stupid man is really a challenge." It made him sigh softly and led him to deal, first of all, with the food.

"Good, then do not. I’m not blessed with patience, but who knows..."

Adeláire simply let that hang in the air and preferred to devote herself to the excellent meal. Where did the cook get only such goods in times like these? Almost a little guilty, Adeláire had to think of all the hungry outside, on the streets. But as always, Bellec used to say so fairly: you can’t save everyone.

 

They were silent, again. While the night was getting deeper, they sat soundlessly opposite each other and devoted themselves to eating. And that, when they had so many things to talk about. Adeláire finally caught Dorian's inquiring gaze, who looked at her over his wine glass.

"So, Bonaparte. What exactly has the Brotherhood imagined I would be able to do, which could not be done by any other Assassin?"

Adeláire breathed inwardly, almost a little relieved that he dropped the subject of her escape from the bath. Focusing on the mission seemed to her so much easier at the moment. She also picked up her wine glass and sipped at the exquisite Red.

"We must get to him. Close and familiar enough that we can find out whether he is actually in possession of a Piece of Eden or not. And if so," she hesitated briefly, "…and if so, we need to bring it into our possession." She raised her eyes and looked at Dorian, who observed her, focused.

"The reports of the events in Saint-Denis were talking about men who had gone mad, which were puzzling. Again and again the description of a man appeared, who could bring forth a radiant light which drove them all into madness." She fixed Dorian, who held her gaze, expressionless.

"Arno... You used the power of a Piece of Eden, right? And afterwards you wanted to send it to safety. So you know what these artifacts are capable of. And if Bonaparte has one, he can’t keep it." As Dorian continued his silence, Adeláire followed her inner urge to find further words of conviction.

"In the years of the revolution, France was almost torn into a thousand pieces. Imagine what would happen if someone like Bonaparte came up to the top with such power in his hand. His campaign to Egypt has already stirred up the Brotherhood there. I know that they contacted the Council and asked them to do something. Master Trenet does not talk to me about it, but you know well enough how thin the rock walls of the Sanctuary are about such news."

Dorian was still silent and scrutinized her during her whole little speech. When her words dried up, she simply replied to his gaze mutely and helplessly. This lasted until he finally sipped his wine and put the glass on the table.

"I understand the reasons why someone would like to delay or even stop Bonaparte's journey, a journey which I also regard as unstoppable. But again, my initial question, from the beginning: what does the Brotherhood think I can do?"

Adeláire sighed and turned her own wine glass between her fingertips. Thoughtfully, she looked at the dark red, which almost reminded her of blood.

"You shall help us get to him. Finding a meaningful story that tells him plausibly, why he absolutely needs an Assassin nearby. The Brotherhood is of the opinion that he trusts you enough to present such a strong story to him."

Dorian gave her the sound of snapping and settled into his chair. He crossed his left leg, while his right foot was balanced on the seat edge. Again he reached for his glass and leaned his head against the backrest. Musing, he looked at his counterpart before he came to an answer.

"Well, trust would be a too strong word for the... Relationship which Bonaparte and I cultivate. I would argue that we do have our philosophical… Disagreements with each other. It’s therefore a very pretty gambling game, which the Council would like to set in motion here. Bonaparte is unpredictable in many ways. And certainly not stupid. _If…_ we want to dish him a story, then it must be a _really_ damn good one."

Adeláire followed his speech in her mind and nodded gently, right up until she noticed exactly what he had just said. Her gaze widened briefly, and for a moment she held her breath.

"That means you're helping us?" The corner of Dorian's mouth was again smiling.

"When I found the artifact in the underground temple, and saw what power it possessed, I swore to myself that Bonaparte should never get it. If he has it now, I'll have to make sure it leaves his estate again." Dorian briefly glanced at his wine glass. "France has suffered enough to now be able to endure a witch playing Despot. And most importantly, I don’t want to be responsible for it, just because I took the artifact out of the temple and didn’t keep it safe enough."

The end of his words sounded quiet, thoughtful, and once again contained an overwhelming heaviness. Adeláire was silent. Again, she didn’t have the right words for Dorian. This was slowly becoming a rather unpleasant habit. Her voice sounded thin and somehow helpless as she approached a reply.

"No one could’ve guessed that Bonaparte would find ways and means to carry out a campaign to Egypt. It’s never your fault alone. Let alone that of someone else. It merely shows how possessed Bonaparte is regarding these artifacts. It’s all the more important that we stop him. "

Dorian nodded silently, drank a deep draft of his wine, and finally leaned back into the chair in comfort.

"Why didn’t you actually go to Dumas? As far as I know he is still a friend of the Brotherhood. Or has something changed since our little Marcourt-disaster?" His face hovered a smile in memory of his early education. And to the powerful group that had emerged, as well as three men, whom he still called his friends. Except for…

"Dumas has not yet returned from the Egyptian campaign. According to the latest reports, his ship was capsized and he was captured. The Council has commissioned a group of Assassins to find more solid information. But I don’t know more. Only that, because we’re running out of time, the Council was of the opinion that we would have to look for another way. Et voilà." She described her nightly eating scene with a gesture of her right hand and smiled gently.

Dorian was silent and looked at her again as if to investigate an answer to a question he had not yet asked. Adeláire frowned and leaned her head gently as she spoke.

"What? You look as if you wanted to ask me something. Something... unpleasant." Dorian smiled briefly before he grew serious again.

"You'll have to talk to the Council about something else." Adeláire blinked, confused.

"About what?"

Dorian lowered his right foot back to the floor and leaned so far forward, that he could put his arms on the table. His dark eyes fixed her intensely.

"Once we have begun to infiltrate Bonaparte, we can’t let our every step be blessed by the Council. I'm no longer bound to the Council and can make any decisions when they're needed." He paused briefly. "You can't. You risk with every unauthorized, arbitrary decision to share my Kismet." He stopped again briefly and studied her features.

"There are several ways to solve this problem. Either, first, you ignore it and drive the mission to its bitter end. And then live with the consequences. Second, you let me do this job alone. Third, demand a letter of freedom from the Council. Let them show their confidence in you and make them realize how we’ve to work." His posture relaxed a bit as mischief moved into his gaze.

"And finally but surely not the most attractive option, you just leave the Brotherhood by yourself."

Adeláire was almost overwhelmed by all these thoughts. She had to admit honestly, that she hadn’t even thought this far. Her last reflections on the mission had been about getting Dorian to get into the boat at all. Now, that this had apparently been achieved, she gave him right to push other important decisions into the foreground. Thoughtfully she nibbled at her lower lip and leaned back in the chair.

"I know you're right. However, I don’t have the slightest idea how to make that clear to the Council. It would mean for them to have an uncontrollable Assassin, almost rogue in the field. And after what you..." she just caught herself, realizing she could still suppress the end of the sentence. "...what has often happened with Assassins in long-term jobs in the field, I know that the Council will not approve this."

Once more, Arno's mouth twitched in a dumb smile. He had quite noticed what she had wanted to say. After what had happened at that time, when he made his own and self-willed decisions, the remaining Council-Masters were certainly more cautious.

"Who knows, maybe the Council suspected that just such an approach would be necessary and that’s the reason they chose you for this job. I’ve already mentioned that I’ve seldom met anyone with such sincere and firm faith in the Council and the Creed. Perhaps they trust this belief is so solid, that it feels as if a councilor himself is out there."

Adeláire tried to read in his eyes and find the mischief that wasn’t there. He seemed to take these words seriously and even to be convinced of them. Uncertainly she still nibbled at her lower lip and felt the thoughts in her head circling like gloomy mist. Should the Council really put such a deep trust in her? If so, she could already feel this burden pressing down on her shoulders.

She scarcely noticed Dorian getting up, emptied his wine glass in a last swallow, and set it on the table. Only when he reached out with a hand did she look up at him and reply with a soft smile.

"Let's go to sleep. In a few hours is a new day and then there is still time enough to deal with the Council."

Adeláire grasped the offered hand and let herself pull softly and smoothly into typically strong, male arms. The kiss they shared didn’t speak of desire or hunger. It ended a day, an evening, a night in which two people had got to know each other better. In Adeláire there shone a trace of something, which also felt like a kind of beginning. She prayed earnestly that it didn’t develop into love. Love made people weak. And Assassins even moreso. This was the faith in which she had grown up. And maybe Love was the reason why Dorian was at the point in his life that he was.

And yet she couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling as they lay down and Arno's arm pinched her closer to him. She felt his warmth through his shirt and the powerful beating of his heart under her palm. She breathed deeply and snuggled her arm around his waist while his own held her shoulders. For the remainder of today, she banished all dark thoughts. In a few hours the new day would arrive. Enough time for the rest of the world to break over them together.

 

Adeláire awoke from a deep sleep as she felt Arno rolling restlessly in his sleep. Not yet quite awake, she groaned softly and moved a bit away from him. He seemed to be trapped in a dream that entangled him in a kind of hopeless struggle. Carefully she touched his shoulder and whispered his name.

Surprisingly, it had the same effect as if she had poured a bucket of water over him. He drove out of the troubled dream and before Adeláire could react, his hand clasped her throat and pressed her into the pillows. The room was still dark, the dusk was not yet about to begin. She could see nothing of him as dark shadows moved over her, which pushed the air from her. No sooner had she been able to squeeze out a slight “Arno.”

Breathing heavily, he crouched profoundly pent-up over her, before finally reality seemed to find its way into his confused dream. The grip around her throat loosened and with a shocked panting he dodged back from her and leaned heavily against the bed pillar.

"It... I'm sorry... I..." Adeláire coughed and struggled up into the pillows.

“You dreamed. And apparently it wasn’t a pleasant dream." Her voice sounded brittle and she had to cough repeatedly.

Arno rose hastily from the edge of the bed and looked for something drinkable. All he found, however, was the rest of the evening wine. With her glass from supper, he returned and held it to her mutely. She took it in silence and studied the few features that she could see in the last glow of the fireplace. Until he turned her back and went to the other end of the room, to an ear-chair with a small table and a telescope in the corner.

"You should try to get some sleep. You should not be bleary-eyed when you discuss with the Council." His voice sounded absent, and his thoughts were circling around different things. Adeláire sipped the wine a few times before putting the glass on the small table next to the bed.

"I would be more comfortable if you were to try that too. I didn’t mean to talk to the Council alone." She sensed more than she saw that he nodded approvingly before he settled down in the comfortable armchair.

"Later. Give me a few minutes."

She was still watching, as he lit the candle on the small table and his hand rested briefly on a casket next to the candelabrum. Finally, he drew his right foot onto the seat and supported his chin in the palm of his left hand, resting his gaze on the casket. Adeláire sighed softly and finally sank back into the pillows. She guessed that it would be more than a few minutes, and so she didn't wonder at all that she was still lying alone in the sheets when sleep miraculously returned to her.

 

Her renewed awakening was much more pleasant than the last. The scent of fresh coffee was blowing around her nose and the sun tickled through the roof window. Yawning, she curled herself into the pillow before she leaned on her elbow and looked around, searching.

Arno had apparently ordered a small breakfast and exchanged the remains of her midnight snack for croissants, jam, eggs and coffee. Adeláire gently sucked the scent into her, and immediately heard her stomach growling audibly. The windows to the roof garden were open and Arno was nowhere to be seen. A soft conversation blew in, who it was could not be identified.

Adeláire rose and devoted herself to breakfast. It just looked all too seductive to skate over without any attention. Armed with a cup of coffee and a halved croissant with jam, she turned to the roof garden.

"Ah, our sleeping beauty has returned to the living."

If she were still 13, she would probably stick her tongue out at the speaker. So the adult Adeláire only remained able to wrinkled her nose in response to such a statement as she approached the two men in the roof garden.

Arno likewise hadn’t yet taken the effort to get dressed already. He had just slipped into his boots, where she herself was still barefoot en route. His counterpart was completely dressed in his Assassin's robe. The forest green seemed washed out, but still well-maintained. The hood overshadowed his light-gray eyes, in which the scoundrel always sparkled.

"I thought you were on a mission abroad, Verne? What drove you back so early?"

Adeláire noticed from the the corner of her eye Arno's surprised, raised eyebrows, while the Assassin called 'Verne' approached her and, coffee and croissant still in-hand, briefly and cordially enclosed her in his arms.

"It is also nice to see you little sister. Don’t tell me you were worried?" She replied to his grin with the same intensity and again there was the desire to poke out her tongue.

"I would never worry about you. If you can’t debate yourself out of something, you'll surely find a little bit of a remedy or a bit of explosives, that’ll do just fine as well." That gave her a grin again, before he let her go and turned back to his place on the balustrade.

"Caught. You know me almost as well as our dear Arno."

Both of them turned their attention to him. A smile escaped her, and she cast a side-glance at Verne. He reflected her emotions and finally folded his arms in front of his chest. Dorian's attitude was relaxed, but there was something lurking beneath the surface. He seemed to want to see for himself alone with observation how she and Verne stood to each other.

"What do you think, should we enlighten him?" She asked, smiling.

"Oh, our dear Dorian is a clever boy. I think, if we give him some more time, he will have found it out by himself."

The clever fellow kept silent and sipped his coffee. He seemed to have made the decision to simply wait for an explanation rather than ask.

"She already let me die dumb. I trust that she can do so again,” came the usual muttering tone. Verne's eyes widened briefly in played astonishment before he laughed softly.

"Believe me, mon ami, that's mastered all women in the most perfect kinds and ways. She doesn’t even have to be Assassin for that." That brought him a nudge in the side from Adeláire. He responded with another laugh on his part.

"But back to the seriousness of life. And to an explanation. Although we surely don’t owe you any accountability." Again a short grin. "Adeláire and I have been working together for some time since you… left us. And I have to admit, even if no one can replace our old team, it was quite pleasant with the sweet Mademoiselle." That brought him yet another, this time noticeable, nudge in the side.

"Who saved you at the last mission, because you had… _o_ _verlooked_ the opponent behind you." She emphasized 'overlooked' by pretending to put the word in literal speech. Verne countered.

"I did not _overlook_ him. I was just not quite finished with his predecessor." He imitated her gesture at the same word and finished his remarks by nudging her this time.

All this was wordlessly observed by Dorian, while he emptied his coffee. His facial expressions were impenetrable and his smile seemed fake. Adeláire didn’t have any idea of what was going on in his head. So she decided to address simpler questions.

"So, Verne, why are you here? Courtesy call? Network?" He smiled gently.

"I'm here for you, baby girl. The Council wants to know what you are doing. Seems to be a few days ago that you have last reported." He hesitated briefly, giving Dorian a side view. "And since I'm quasi… Friends with you both, they deemed probably, that I am most likely suitable to spy on you."

Adeláire frowned and finally glanced at Dorian. His mimicry had darkened and he turned the cup of coffee in his hand. When his eyes finally returned to her, there was something like frustration in the darkness of his eyes.

"So much for trusting in me." Adeláire lowered her head and rubbed her forehead. This didn’t make the matter, which she had to discuss with the Council, necessarily simpler.

"I don’t think it's about you, little sister," came the caution from Verne. She didn’t have to lift her eyes to capture the mood around her. Her senses also were not needed.

"I need another coffee," Arno barely said, just before he turned on his heel and went back to his room. Adeláire sighed softly and rubbed her forehead again. How could she convince the Council?

"You should be careful," Verne said quietly. Confused, Adeláire raised her head and returned a look that rested on her with concern.

"What exactly do you mean?"

His gaze followed briefly the direction into which Arno had disappeared, his chin pointing behind the path.

"It is very easy to like him. It is even easier to develop compassion for what he had to experience and go through. Be careful and don’t let it be more if you do not really have serious intentions."

If Verne wouldn’t be so close to her as he did, she would’ve coolly chastised him and asked him to go. But he was almost like a brother, not just in the Assassin context. And finally, he merely reflected her own concerns. To condemn him was as if she were to put herself in the pillory. So she just nodded and followed his gaze.  
"You should throw something on. The council is waiting." He gave her a gentle shoulder-restrainer to set her in motion. Sighing softly, she set about gathering her things and equipment together.

"This, by the way, applies to you as well, Dorian!" was said much louder from the direction of the two open glass doors. As a result, Arno appeared in their opening and showed a disbelieving expression of his mimicry.

"Please what?"

"I was commissioned to present Adeláire to the Council. And, if her mission has already been successful, to ask for your appearance as well. And since it seems to me personally more than obvious that the girly-one was successful here, I’ve executed and can say, mission accomplished." Arno's facial expression darkened again.

"You know man... If you weren’t who you are, then..."

"Yes, yes, I know. Then I would have you already at my throat and you would probably carry me over the parapet of this balcony." Verne grinned broadly. "But since I am who I am, swing your ass into your clothes and get ready. I don’t have the whole day to chat nicely with you here."

"Bastard."

"I like you, too, my friend."

Arno's angry snort was chased by Verne's hearty laughter. Adeláire couldn’t help but follow the whole thing simply smiling. And somehow it was good to observe these two, apparently quite old, friends in their coexistence. She kept discovering new pages of Arno. And again she felt this feeling in her chest, which pulled her heart together. With a controlled breathing, she finally pushed off the parapet and turned to the task of dressing. No way this should become even more intense.

Verne's critical and worried look behind her, she didn’t see. Neither the dark shadow, which seemed to lay itself over the roof garden for a moment, before the May sun let it melt.

 

  
[1]French for „Bitch“ ~~  
~~

 


	7. Team up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Meeting after all what happened back then between Arno and the Assassin's Council.  
> So much can go wrong, so much. But will it?  
> And will there be first steps toward a Team?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted that Chapter first without editing / lectoring by a Native.  
> Now, a former Reader jumped in and i can present the Story in the Translation-Quality i would like to present it.  
> Thanks to Anjaliya and i hope, you all enjoy it now even more x)

\---------------------- Paris, Sanctuary of the Assassins, May 1799 _\-------_

 

 

Arno had long considered the clothes in which he was supposed to face the Council. Adeláire had given him time and space, as did Verne. He followed them in full armament, but without a coat and a hood. The collar of his dark gray shirt was open, and his casual appearance was belied by the tension in shoulders and clenched fists.

Adeláire's sand-brown assassin's coat had not yet been completely dried. It withdrew her knowledge why the staff had found that it could also endure a laundry. Her blouse was still a little clammy, as well as her pantaloons. She knew she only noticed these neglected things to divert her mind. Again and again she went through her head as she might be able to convince the council. She would have liked so much more time to prepare for this conversation.

"You know where to go. I'll see you both later," Verne said, nodding to them for a moment, before turning to the right instead of climbing the curving stairs with them.

Adeláire looked up the steps and her pace slowed. She took a deep breath and clenched her hands into fists as well. Why did her heart beat to her throat? Huffish and irritated, she finally gave a group of Assassins a green poisonous look. Their whispers about whether it was actually Dorian in her accompaniment, and what he might be doing here, ceased abruptly.

"We should not let them wait”, it came quietly beside her.

Arno had caught up to her and she could see he felt uncomfortable. His shoulders were stiff and secured adamantine. No hood offered him the protection of their shadow, and he probably had to feel himself very exposed. His facial expression was emotionless and pent-up. He avoided allowing it to become too dark. But the longer he felt exposed to the whispering, the more difficult it was for him to ignore it.

Adeláire nodded mutely and now hurried up the steps. He was right, you didn’t let the Council wait. And she wanted to get over with it. She halted her steps at the end of the passage, bowed her head in front of the three councilors. Master Trenet turned away from the windows, which gave the view to the sanctuary, to the new arrivals. Adeláire could feel that Arno was waiting at least five steps behind her.

"Welcome back Assassine. What do you have to report?" Master Trenet's voice was cool and for the moment she ignored Arno completely.

Adeláire raised her head and briefly looked at the other two masters. Their eyes rested on her as if Arno didn’t exist.  Adeláire folded the hands behind her back and devoted her attention to Master Trenet.  "You let me know that I should’ve brought our present guest with me, so my mission would be crowned with success. Now that Monsieur Dorian is present, I am only able to report the successful fulfillment."

Master Trenet nodded mutely, then turned her gaze to Arno. There was a silence, which seemed to draw almost unbearable in the length.  "Monsieur Dorian, welcome."

Adeláire stepped aside and cleared the way for Arno. The gesture, however, was used half-heartedly to approach only two or three steps. Adeláire noticed the strained tension around his jaw. He merely returned the welcome with a stiff, courtly bow. His gaze remained unrelenting on the Master.

"You let me know that my presence is desired." His voice sounded brittle and compressed. Whereupon Master Trenet merely nodded mutely. Adeláire studied unobtrusively the other two masters. Both seemed to have decided not to join the battlefield and go with the challenge. Their eyes were resting on the hands, folded in front of them on the table.

"That's right Monsieur Dorian. And I .. thank you .. that you have followed our wish. Especially with regard to our last meeting before .. so many years .." Dorian nodded only mute and scarce. If not now, Master Trenet could understand how difficult this conversation was going to be. Adeláire could see a quiet, inner sigh. If probably only because she knew the slowly aging master better than Beylier and Quemar.

"So Assassin, what is the status?" Master Trenet sat down at her table and reflected the attitude and gesture of her Master colleagues. She looked attentively at Adeláire.

"Well, Monsieur Dorian has agreed to stand aside us at the harmonization of Bonaparte. However, we’ve not yet had the opportunity to talk about details. I have allowed myself the freedom to inform Monsieur Dorian about the background of our urgent request. Only to give him all the information he might need for a decision. His consent was thus based on all the data and facts that are currently available to us. "

Master Trenet nodded silently, and Adeláire could see Master Beylier wrestling with himself. Finally, his decision was made, and he raised his gaze to Adeláire.  "Are you sure Assassine that a comprehensive information was really needed? You have been gambling on the most secret information of the Order."

Adeláire felt the heat ascending her neck.  "Forgive me Master Beylier, but how could I have hoped to be able to convince someone with the history that Monsieur Dorian brings with him, to help us if the first contacts had already been overloaded with mistrust? He had a right to all available information in order to be free to choose.” Master Beylier merely bristled with anger at her statements.

"Excuse my interference, ladies and gentlemen, but ... I am an attendant. Since when did the Council feel as polite talking _about_ someone rather than with him?" Dorian's tone was sharp. Probably sharper than he had intended. But Adeláire could understand it. You could literally grab Arno's frustration in the room. And yet, his words followed icy silence.

"Good to see that you have hardly changed in all these years .. Monsieur .. Dorian," the words finally came cold from Master Quemar. His gaze caught Dorian's, and the feeling of all the unspoken in the room was almost suffocating. Adeláire laced it actually briefly in the air while she watched silently as Arno's jaw worked. How much more abuse would be necessary for him to simply turn his back on the heel and leave them all alone?

"We should all calm down now and think about the far more important mission. And above all, let us bury all too old anger, in order for us to be able to work effectively. I expect that from adult people, which we all are." Master Trenet's tone tried, beside her words, to pacify the minds.

Arno signaled his agreement, now also clasping his hands behind his back, his gaze breaking from Quemar and resting on Trenet. His jaw still worked, but Adeláire could see that he consciously shifted his shoulders to relax his posture. Master Trenet nodded to him in silence, and a touch of appreciation, before she spoke.

"So Monsieur Dorian, what do you suggest how we should proceed regarding Bonaparte?" Adeláire blinked briefly. This turn of the conversation came unexpectedly. A short eye up of Dorian confirmed her, for him as well. He cleared his throat briefly before he started.

"Well, as to Bonaparte in person, we can’t really do much at the moment. He is still in Egypt. And personally I think that the brotherhood there will be keeping an eye on him. Our...” he swallowed hard before he continued,"...the support of the French brotherhood was probably already offered. To press Bonaparte now in Egypt would not make much sense. He is in the middle of a war and selling him a threat that only Assassins would be able to fight in the middle of a standing army...well..."

He didn’t need to elaborate the considerations further in order to bring their ridicule to light. Master Trenet, therefore, merely nodded and seemed to be waiting. Thoughtfully, Dorian began to pace a little up and down.

"The question that arises, does he already have an artifact or has he traveled specifically to Egypt because he somehow found out that the one from Saint-Denis is there? If so, how did he find out? We do not know when he will return from Egypt. So long we should try to infiltrate his environment and his network here in Paris. Find out who knows too much and where the intersections are where information leaks. The better we are prepared when he enters Paris ground again.”

Arno set out on his alternate motion and dedicated his attention to Master Trenet again. Adeláire noticed a very soft smile around her mouth. If she didn’t know better, she would have almost the presumption that something like maternal pride played in the master's moves. All the more she regretted the departure of this moment when Dorian continued to speak: "However, all these considerations are not measures for which my particular person is actually needed. The network of the Brotherhood is large and trained enough to accomplish this without my help. I personally don’t see my benefit for this mission until Bonaparte returns to France."

There followed a silence in which Master Trenet gave her two councilors a glance before she spoke.  "Well, you've all recognized and summarized this well Monsieur Dorian." She fixed Arno's gaze. "And as you can remember, there are many strands and information the Brotherhood needs to take care of. Even though we might like it, we can’t put any available Assassins on Bonaparte's network. We thought of a small team. With a… leader… who knows the goal better than anyone within the  
Order."

Again there was a deep silence, in which the words just heard could gain importance. Adeláire studied Dorian. His mimic had briefly let control go before he got a grip on himself. His shoulders slipped out of his tense and he lowered his head only a whiff, before he spoke again.

"Is this supposed to be an offer to join the Brotherhood again?" His voice sounded flat, colorless, emotionless. And only in the lines of his tense back could Adeláire recognize the effort behind this lack of emotion.

"No… Monsieur Dorian. This is an offer to work with us and to take the lead over a small team of Assassins to accomplish this special mission successfully." Master Trenet was silent for a moment to secure Dorian's attention. "We'll talk about everything that could follow, when the right time has come."

Adeláire held his breath. Was this really what she suspected to have heard? She glanced again at Arno as she breathed unobtrusively. His tension was palpable and his jaw worked again. She could see how much of these words arose in him. She would’ve liked to use her abilities to capture more of him. Finally, Arno straightened his shoulders and raised his chin.

"Good. However, I have a condition. "

What give rise to, that the Master Beylier and Quemar let go their brace and began loudly protesting. Statements such as "no change" and "bold behavior" were used to name the most innocuous of them. Adeláire felt the heat of anger creep up her neck again. Did her mimic look as dark as Dorians at the moment?

"Enough now!" finally came barking from Master Trenet. And when all had come to rest, she gave Arno a hint that he should speak further. Arno straightened again, before continuing.

"If this... team... you are supposed, should be effective, then we need the full trust of the council. Especially when Bonaparte is back again and it’s a matter of positioning ourselves right under his nose, we have to be able to make decisions on the ground." Arno's dark gaze fixed on Master Beylier. "This includes, among other things, that we can’t obtain a Council’s blessing in advance for every kill. In the field it has to be very fast very often. Especially with such a goal as Bonaparte."

Adeláire could see Master Beylier standing before a rage as he rose from the chair. His eyes flashed. And Master Quemar wasn‘t to be inferior: "It was precisely these moods back then Dorian, which brought you the exile from the Brotherhood. It’s most unfortunate to see that you have not changed your way of thinking in all these years."

Arno's gaze replied Beylier's blaze.  "Forgive Master Beylier, but my mindset has changed. But finally you have to leave the things you can’t stop free, as the old ones did with the elephants and the sickle-carriage."

Beylier's facial expressions darkened even more if possible.  "Don’t come to me now with Machiavelli you brash… grande gueule[1]. All you want to achieve is a charter to march across Paris and bring the brotherhood into disrepute!"

Arno loosened the entanglement of his hands behind his back, and Adeláire was concerned that his left wrist had only to fulfill a slight twist to pull the blade out. He wouldn’t seriously threaten or even attack a councilor? Cautiously, she lowered her arms to her side and prepared herself for everything.

"I never put the Brotherhood in disrepute. I was just blaming myself to follow my heart!" Arno's voice growled irritably and slowly, very slowly, he lowered his arms. "But if the events of that time still bring such great concerns, after all this time, I’m perhaps the wrong choice for this mission." Arno bowed, in a courtly manner, before turning abruptly to going.

Adeláire went through a shock. Before she could hold on to herself, a horrified "Arno!" escaped, which she regretted in the same breath. Embarrassed, she bit her lower lip and the atmosphere following this exclamation, seemed to tear her into a thousand small pieces. But at the very least it prevented Arno from evacuating the premises. His dark gaze crossed hers and remained unclear. Adeláire turned to the council helplessly.

"Please... Master Trenet... we've talked about it so often... when we choose the most trustworthy among the experienced Assassins..." Adeláire could feel as if the arguments were like sand tumbling between her fingers. Her head was empty and helpless she let her arms sink.

Silence. Once again. None of the five people also seemed to stir a single muscle. Only the chests lifted and lowered in the air. Finally, Master Trenet rose and stepped out of the council chamber toward Arno. Gently she put a hand on his right forearm and looked straight into his eyes.  "So good Arno, we'll give you what you want. But please, keep the words of our Creed deep in your heart and try to lead the entrusted to you. It’s easier to obey than learn to command."

Silently, Arno replied to the almost begging glance of the Master. At last he took a step back from her and bowed his head in an assassin style in front of her. When he lifted him again, he let his gaze wander over the other two masters and lingered briefly at Adeláire. Mutely, she formed a "Merci" before he turned away and strove with striking steps out of the sanctuary.

Adeláire's and Master's Trenet's eyes followed Arno until he disappeared down the stairs from her field of vision. Quietly the young Assassin gave a soft breath, as she had just noticed, which she had stopped. Without a word, she withstood Master Trenet's eyeball as she turned to her.

"Choose a team, talk to Dorian, and then go to work as soon as possible. We don’t know when Bonaparte returns. Until then, we must have learned as much as possible."

Adeláire bowed her head deferentially in front of the Master and foster mother, and turned to go.

"And ... Adeláire ..."

The young Assassin stopped her hurried striving and turned to the Master and the Council again. The three pairs of eyes studied her in different ways. There was something like warmth and sorrow only in that of Master Trenet.

"Take care of yourself. .. Dorian is sometimes extremely... impulsive. Don’t burn your fingers..."

Adeláire blinked a little confused, and an angry, small voice inside her wondered in which context Master Trenet was giving this warning. The Assassin remained silent on these words, merely tipping her head again, and finally hurried out of the council room with great strides.

 

Verne awaited her at the foot of the stairs, engrossed in conversation with an assassin, who bore an unmistakably heavy ax on his back. Also the rest of the outfit seemed quite casual, in contrast to Verne. The latter was just rubbing his forehead, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Adeláire delayed her steps, as it seemed as if she were coming ill-timed.

"Sod it! When are you two pigheads finally sitting down at a table and talking about it? It has been so many years ago and so much has happened since then. Was it really worth giving up a friendship? "

Adeláire had never before perceived such a tone at Verne. He seemed deeply annoyed and frustrated. This didn’t want to fit into his otherwise rather cheerful style.

"This bastard and I have never been real friends. Otherwise he would not have performed like this. Even if his brain was obscured by this Templarbitch, that didn’t give him the right to fall out of grace."

Verne raised his head and now also folded his arms in front of his chest. "Oh, and your words were so much more sensitive than his own? And believe me, it's not really helpful if you still call her a Templarbitch. She is dead. At least a little respect would be appropriate."

"You know what Verne, bite me. Both of you!" Then the Assassin with the ax turned away on the heel and disappeared into the depths of the Sanctuary.

"Yes exactly. In that relationship, you are both the same. Weaving away when it gets too unpleasant. Merde! "

"Well, I'm assuming that he as a team member then probably fails," Adeláire murmured quietly. Apparently still loud enough that Verne noticed her.

"Team? What kind of team?"

Adeláire put down the last steps to him, pointing to a library corner.

"The Council has instructed me to put together a small team of Assassins who are willing to work with Dorian." Verne's eyebrows shot up. "Yes wait. It gets even better. They must be Assassins who also accept Dorian as their leader."

This caused Verne's jaw to sag down.  "You're gonna fool me, aren't you? Our Council has agreed to this? The two gruff old men and the nice, aging woman? Seriously?"

Adeláire could feel as she was unpleasantly touched gently red.  "Eh, Verne, maybe you should be a little quieter, if you do such statements. I don’t know if the Masters find such classifications so funny."

Verne pushed his hood back and stroked his dark blond hair. He puffed up his cheeks, then let the air go.

"Ok, phew, believe me, this is hard to swallow. Never in my life would I’ve taken anything like that, if it weren’t you who told me that. This must be a very special and important task for the Council to make such concessions,” Verne stated, his gray eyes giving her a questioning look.

Adeláire hesitated. Verne was her and Arno's friend. Still, she was not sure if the initiation of his person in the team would be so wise. Could it really be an advantage if they were all so close? Uncertainly she chewed on her lower lip.

"You're not serious about whether you want to inaugurate me or not, do you?" Adeláire could feel a redness rising up her neck again.

"Would you ever want to be there at all? I mean, Dorian and who knows who else." Verne leaned back again and crossed his arms.

"Come on Adeláire, seriously? How long have we known each other? And  
Arno I've known a lot longer. With both of you I worked more than once successfully in a team. So if it's a question of getting results quickly, you should also ask Fran-cesco. Then you have the element of familiarizing each other namely right off from the start. And yes, Francesco would work with Arno. And honestly, I wouldn’t know anyone else in the Brotherhood, of which I would also claim that."

Adeláire's redness intensified, this time in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Verne was right. There were not really any alternatives. So she decided to inaugurate Verne to the facts which have so far been available, which were still not many. When she had finished, Verne nodded mutely and seemed very thoughtful.

"I believe the Council is doing well to admit Arno and the team's liberties.  
Arno is right, when we sit under Bonaparte's nose, we can’t reinsure ourselves every time. And he, Francesco, and I were more often in such ad-hoc situations." He smiled gently in her direction. "And you'll learn it quite soon." Thoughtfully, he stroked the three-day beard of his chin. "And I think, we will not need much more people."

"You think four Assassins are enough?" Adeláire could clearly hear that her voice didn’t sound convincing.

Verne nodded thoughtfully.  "Absolutely. We were always four on the road at the time and the team size was mostly quite perfect. Clearly more will be too confusing."

Adeláire nodded and breathed through.  "All right, then we just have to find Arno and ask him what he thinks about our ideas and plans."

Verne grinned briefly.  "Oh, I think we can take our time. After the conversation with the Council and the clash with LaHache, Dorian needs something whereupon he can discharge steam. Believe me darling, he is currently en route in the city in search of a more memorable exchange."

Adeláire's eyebrows wandered up into the air, then pulled together thoughtfully.  "Should we not be right after him? With a half-dead Dorian, we certainly can’t do too much."

This caused Verne to laugh out loud.  "You really still don’t know him enough. Dorian can estimate himself and his abilities already well enough that the hassle will be memorable, but not deadly." He smiled gently at her as he rose to go. "Just don’t worry, you'll soon have him intact back into your pillow." That brought him a strong nudge in the chest and actually a painful panting, coupled with coughing laughter. Together, they left the sanctuary and decided to wait for Arno's return in the café.

 

Verne was right - it was twilight when Arno reappeared. Adeláire and Verne had made themselves comfortable in the roof garden of the café at the fountain by kidnapping the two armchairs from Arno's rooms and setting them up in the direction of Seine. Cozily balancing the feet on the stone bench and devouring small canapés to their coffee, they enjoyed the last rays of sunshine of the warm May day.

Adeláire heard Arno swing down behind them from the roof of the café into the garden. Her and Verne's conversation fell silent, and they waited for Arno to join them.

"Well, you've made yourself at home in my absence." His tone sounded sarcastic humorous, but not searing.

"But you have it now simply untold pretty and cozy here my dear. You have to take advantage of that when you can." What Verne brought only a short snort.

Arno didn’t seem willing to join them. He aspired toward his room and Adeláire could only catch a glimpse of his back. He was dressed in his dark cowl, so she couldn’t be sure what the blurriness on the shoulders of his hood were. But if Verne was right, and Arno had been looking for a memorable hassle, you would hardly have to sum-up one-to-one to get the solution. Her eyes crossed Verne's and met his amused smirk.

"At least, the good dear is now much more relaxed than this morning.” This remark gave him an acknowledged snorting from Adeláire.

Discharged from coat and hood, Arno finally joined them. The sun was low behind him as he leaned against the stone armor with a well-filled glass of wine. Only after a deep sip did he devote his two guests his full attention.

"So, what is the state of affairs?"

Adeláire looked at him from head to toe. Almost a little frightened, she concluded, that she secretly searched him for injuries. Embarrassed, she took her feet from the stone bench and crossed her legs over each other.  "Our goodness here has the task of putting the team together and letting it approve from you. And, of course, directly afterwards work is announced."

Arno nodded, muttering something unintelligible.  "Let me guess Verne, you’ve reported yourself voluntarily?" Arno's tone was mocking.

"Almost. After Adeláire explained everything to me I couldn’t possibly miss all the fun. Besides, who likes to work with such a cretin like you. It needs nerves like mine."

"Salaud[2]," Verne laughed, while Arno sniffed disparaging again.

Adeláire chose her tone deliberately pointedly. "Really adorable to watch how dear you two have each other. Should I leave you alone?"

"There! There! No reason to become jealous. The good Arno belongs to you completely. I just lend him out for work."

"You are sometimes really impossible, Verne." Adeláire rolled her eyes to finally leave her gaze on Arno. Something in his observation met her to the marrow and made her shudder.

"Oh, give it to me, that's why you both love me so much."

Arno still held Adeláire's gaze, and around the corner of his mouth played a smile on Verne's last words. He let her go and turned to his friend, "Yes of course. Absolutely. That will be exactly _the_ reason for Verne."

That left his friend grinning broadly before he emptied his coffee and rose: "Very nice. Now that we've made it clear, I'll leave you two turtle doves alone." A wink shot in Adeláire's direction, before Verne patted Arno twice on the shoulder. "Francesco should be back soon. Then we are complete and can start planning. I'll let you know when he's in Paris." Another grin changed between his friend and the young female Assassin. "And... don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

"Get out of here, dumbass."

"You… me too, scumbag."

A broad smile hit a relaxed, amused laugh before Verne simply swung elegantly over the balcony brace and disappeared into the deepening dusk.

Adeláire stared into her coffee cup and already hated what she intended to do next. She gave herself a jerk, set her own cup beside Verne's, and rose from the chair. She didn’t dare to meet Arno's eyes as she pulled her hood into her forehead.

"I should go now. For today we did everything we could. "

"Stay."

Adeláire blinked and lifted her eyes to his. Still standing like a statue, he stood by the railing and caught her attention with dark eyes. She was almost tempted to believe he had not said anything.

"I don’t want you to go," came as quietly as his previous appeal. Or was it more of a demand?

Adeláire swallowed. She could feel her heart tighten and robbed her of breathing. It was precisely there where emotions were formed, which she would, and could, never allow. She was about to reply, to which it never came. Quick as a pliant predator, he was suddenly close to her and pulled her in the neck towards him, and into a passion filled kiss. She could taste the fact that he had washed out blood from his mouth, which didn’t prevent him from oppressing and overwhelming her. Adeláire sensed how, with every second, her determination began to melt more like ice in April. When, finally, her arms closed as if by themselves around him, the last, helpless little voice in the back of her mind was clear that the struggle for distance had been lost for today.

Still pushing her back into his premises, Arno began to peel her out of things. Adeláire sensed more than she wanted to admit, that this was probably more part of Arno trying to satisfy his continuing goal of seeking a lively tussle, and his evening with her was merely a second priority.  While they were getting rid of each other's clothing, she could make new bruises on him. The one at his side began to already dyed dark, and it elicited him a painful gasp when she examined whether ribs were broken.

"If you're looking for trouble by risking your neck, maybe you shouldn’t do it alone next time." She heard the snarling growling in her voice and hated herself almost in the same breath as she gently stroked the bruise.

She forcibly lifted her eyes as Arno caught her chin and raised it up to him. His eyes caught the fire of the fireplace and he mutely examined her features before he assessed.

"Never worry about me again. This could end up in a tragedy that we don’t want to experience. Do you promise me this? If we want to work together in this operation, you must promise me only that one thing."

Adeláire was almost speechless. How could she do that? Even if she were only to see him as a member of the team, she would still be responsible for the welfare of the whole group. She knew of absolutely nothing in response to his request, and finally only nodded silently. His sad smile clearly conveyed that he didn’t believe her for just a second and still accepted as it was. Affectionately and with a certain sweet heaviness he caught her lips in a new kiss.

The passion they shared seemed to be overflowing with this sweet heaviness, which almost tasted like a kind of grief. Tame as honey were his caresses and creeping as on a dangerous mission, lips wandered over warm skin. Adeláire felt the confusion behind all this and tried to capture this to her so extraneous and strange man.

Whatever that was, or was about to become, it was slowly becoming dangerous to her. And it prepared her a sleepless night in the arms of the man who was about to steal her heart.

 

 

[1] franz. for „Bigmouth“ (derb)

[2] franz. for „Bastard“


	8. First Target

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baguettes are nearly complete and the Mission can go further.  
> An Infiltration without any detect is a challenge, even for the most well-trained Assassin's.  
> And an old Name's crossing Arnos Path again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted that Chapter first without editing / lectoring by a Native.  
> Now, a former Reader jumped in and i can present the Story in the Translation-Quality i would like to present it.  
> Thanks to Anjaliya and i hope, you all enjoy it now even more x)

\------------------------------------------------------------- Paris, June 1799 _\-------_

 

 

Adeláire was breathing heavily and her ribs ached in the side. Carefully she moved her feet around in the stage of her exhaustion and tried not to stumble. The rapier seemed to be getting heavier in her hand, and her sweaty clothes stuck uncomfortably on the skin. She found the only pacification in the aspect that it doesn’t enact differently to her training counterpart.

Since Arno's conversation with the Council, three weeks had passed. Francesco had not yet returned from his mission, and they agreed that they would wait until the team was complete. The latest news about Bonaparte also didn’t announce a return from Egypt, which was very near to the same time. So they had enough time to plan when Francesco arrived in Paris.

Adeláire had taken this opportunity to withdraw from Arno. She had to admit fairly to herself that she, since the night they had spent with each other after the Council talk, had holed up into the sanctuary. Only for the reason that she knew he would never follow her hither. That couldn’t really be said about the rest of Paris.

Still, she hoped that Francesco would finally show up, so she could concentrate on the mission. The eternal circling of thoughts around the emotions rumbling in her stomach, and being locked up under the earth, slowly made her crazy.

"Oh, here you are."

Verne's familiar voice came to her ear from the entrance of the exercise room. Adeláire relaxed her fighting position and nodded in thanks to her training partner. Smoothly, her rapier disappeared in the belt and she turned to her belongings, where she had deposited a towel and drinking water.

As she turned back to Verne with the towel in one hand and the water in the other, she registered with a frown that he crossed the room just slowly. His intense eye up irritated her.  "What?"

"Tell me why you've been creeping down here for days and nowhere put in an appearance?" Verne stopped in the middle of the room and observantly crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Adeláire turned away from him and threw the towel back on the bench. In order to gain time, she tied her hair freshly together at the neck.  "Because I needed training and preparation. And I get that well now best here in the sanctuary. What's so unusual about it? "

"Unusual is just that you don’t need both, my dear. You've been well trained, and we haven’t _had_ anything to prepare for."

Adeláire was about to round on him when she noticed his choice of words. Again she turned to him.  " _Had_ ..?"

Verne smirked.  "Sly thing you are. Yes, exactly, _had_ ... Francesco is finally back and I think it's time we start the mission."

Adeláire couldn’t hide a sigh of relief.  "What kept him so long?"

Verne shrugged his shoulders.  "No idea. I haven’t spoken to him yet. The best thing to do is make yourself fresh and ask him. We meet upstairs in the café." Adeláire bit her lower lip and looked away before continuing the movement and clawed together her things from the bench.

"Is something happening... between you and Arno?" Verne's voice sounded softly and gently.

Adeláire bit her lower lip again before she turned back and went in his direction to get past him. She stopped her steps as she reached him.  "No. And I also want it to stay that way." She hesitated briefly, and she had trouble keeping the gray look that was coming upon her. "It was going too far already."

Verne merely nodded, put his left hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently, and shed more words.  "We'll see you up."

Adeláire nodded mutely and made her way to the barracks. It already engulfed her chest, as she thought of the following face-to-face encounter with Dorian.

 

She found the three men sitting on the terrace outside the cafe. A strong June-Sun burned from the sky and for protection they had drawn the Assassinhoods deeply into the forehead. The attitude of the three seemed relaxed, and Francesco seemed to share a few details about his mission when Adeláire approached:  "... well... and before I could do anything against it the direct sea route to Calais be aimed as a war zone and I had to look for an alternative return journey route. That's why it took a little longer than originally planned."

Verne was the first to lift his gaze to Adeláire and give her a soft smile before he politely rose from his chair. Francesco stopped in his speech, turned to her, and a joyful smile brightened his features. He was still unshaven, and it seemed as though he had moved into the café directly from the ship. He had still shouldered his gun, and his beige coat seemed a little battered and worn. He hurriedly raised himself, spread his arms, and gave her a total of three kisses to the right and to the left in a French manner.  "Mia sorellina carissima! Nice to finally meet you sound and cheerful again. How are you?"

As it may already be inferred from Francesco Marechal's name, Italian ancestors were in his bloodline. This had been from the beginning a circumstance which had bound them both. Adeláire smiled gladly at him, and cordially replied his embrace.  "I think I don’t have quite as much interesting to tell as you did. After all, it wasn’t me, who was fooling around abroad for several weeks. What kept you so long?"

Adeláire deliberately didn’t throw too intense glances to Arno. On her arrival he had joined the courteous manner of the chair lift, and now stood still as a statue in a general hello. His face was darkened by the hood, still drawn deeply to his forehead, so that she couldn’t make out the expression of his eyes. Adeláire decided once to give Francesco and his explanations her attention.

"... yes, so was that. And as you can see, I have resumed safe and sound. So no reason to make so long faces." That induced Francesco to take his wine glass and let it sound at the glasses of his friends.  "So, and now I want to know is, what’s so important that you have practically pocketed me directly from the sill.”

The four at the table exchanged questioning glances until finally Arno for the first time took the word and pointed to Adeláire.  "It’s the lady's mission. Let her explain." His voice sounded calm, controlled. And as he lifted his head, he revealed a dark look, which sought to enter into her thoughts with a pure effort of will.

Uncomfortably Adeláire raised her shoulders a little before she devoted herself to Francesco's much warmer eyes. Verne's frown she passed over completely.  "Do you know what a so-called Piece of Eden is?"

Francesco's eyebrows shot up.  "Sure. As far as I remember, our good Arno has found one in Franciade, and let it be rid of us to... Merde... Egypt." Francesco's gaze flew to his friend, who sat like a silent shadow at the table. "Don’t tell me that Bonaparte is somehow involved in this affair."

Arno smiled briefly. "You’ve always been someone who was able to shape the connections to a picture. And yes, exactly therefore it goes. But let the lady finish the story", Arno replied.

The smile he devoted to Adeláire was now clearly traced by a spoor of ice. Francesco didn’t notice, or ignored it consciously, for her sake. No matter how, she was grateful to him for it.  "We don’t know whether he is doing this campaign because of the Piece of Eden, or whether there are other reasons. And we're not sure if he's already in possession of another artifact. Already the appearance of two here in France is unusual enough to avoid the presumption. And that is exactly what will be our task. We are stabled from the Council to get under Arno's leadership at Bonaparte and find out what artifacts are in his possession."

Francesco had attentively listened to her and Adeláire could clearly see that he was trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Finally, his eyes turned to Arno again.  "Is that supposed to say, they’ve taken you back into the Brotherhood?"

Arno's retorting smile clearly had a bitter touch.  "No. But they seem to need me. So the Council has bitten in this sour apple and asked me to cooperate closely with the Brotherhood. And let us... you… allow a self-sufficient way of working."

Francesco's eyebrows shot up again before they fell again and he frowned.  "Unusual. The Council has never done that before."

Arno smiled again bitterly.  "They seem desperate."

There was a thoughtful silence that none of the four seemed to be willing to break. After all, it was Verne who took control.  "All right then. Do we have any ideas where we want to start? "

Adeláire had one. But that would mean addressing Arno directly. Inwardly, she scorned herself, and demanded professionalism. She felt the muscles of her shoulders tighten as she lifted her chin.  "Arno, as far as I know, you have often frequent Bonaparte in his bureau. Has he moved his premises since then or does he hang on to them?  And could we find something useful there?"

Verne was quicker to reply than originally asked.  "This is not a bad idea. Also, if we do not directly find an artifact, we could ascertain useful information about its network, subordinate, service routes and so on. However, we should also definitely carry out his private rooms. He will not save up precious artifacts in his bureau."

Francesco returned to a calm manner and pursued the conversation quietly and inwardly, which was rather unusual for a man with Italian stake in the blood. Arno acknowledged Verne's explanations with a jovial hand gesture.  "That would’ve been my plan, too. The challenge will be that nobody, not a single servant, nor a single guard, should be able to discover us. Let alone that someone dies. If any reports of unusual happenings at home reach Bonaparte, he will never believe us on his return that he needs us at his side."

Verne grinned broadly.  "Well, if this challenge is not an easy one for four of the best-trained assassins of the... eh..." The unhappily chosen original end of his sentence sounded bumpy. But Arno decided not to go into the matter any further.

Adeláire felt herself slowly relax as she began to enjoy this planning phase. She had always liked working as a team. And Verne was right, these three men were considered the best, whether in the Brotherhood or not.  She questioned, "So well, what do we need to start? Where do we start? And most of all, when?"

Arno smiled softly in her direction and for the first time that day there was something like warmth in it.  "We already have that thought through. Drink up and then let us explore our first aim. Only when we have seen the current status quo can we work out a plan for the infiltration."

Verne grinned again.  "You are and will remain just a smart fellow my friend." Then he emptied his coffee and rose.

Francesco did the same and stretched himself in elevation.  "I would’ve liked to take a bath first, but well. I think the good Arno will be able to safely provide me a room with a hot bath later in his chic café, right?”

Arno joined the general elevation and tapped his friend on the shoulder. As a consequence, dust was stirred up from the mantle.  "Sure, my friend. You know you're always welcome under this roof." A short pause draw in, in which Arno's gaze wandered to Adeláire. "Like any other Assassin..."

Adeláire could feel the redness creeping up her neck again. She rose hastily and pushed her chair under the table.  "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go." Adeláire turned away from the three men towards the house facade of the café as Verne held her back.

"Adeláire?"

Her coat billowed in the re-rotation back to the three men, who all smiled.  "Mhm?"

Verne grinned and pointed with a thumb in the direction of the bridge across the river, right in the front of the cafe.  "That way."

Adeláire's facial expression darkened just before she went past the three, striding towards the bridge. Verne's quiet, amused laughter she sought to ignore as well as possible.

 

 

\----------------------------------------- Paris, Tuilerien, June 1799 _\-------_

 

 They had, without discussion and agreeance to each other, taken the path over the roofs to cross the town in the direction of Tuileries. They had left Notre Dame and the Palais de Justice to the left to cross the Seine at Pont Neuf. Hardly arrived on the other side, it had to be a confusing picture for the passersby, as four Shapes raised the façade and, arrived at the top, disappeared over the roofs. Adeláire gave it a slight smile at the thought before she prepared herself for the ever-increasing leaps. Here the streets were broader and thus the house facades were further apart. It required a more attentive approach in the parkour.

Before, beside and behind her, she could make out the three men who were concentrating on the way as well. Arno had taken the lead after crossing the Seine. His black cloak ruffled behind him as he spread his arms wide to a neck-breaking Leap-of-Faith-like pike from the top of a chimney down to a balcony on the other side. He turned halfway around his body axis and prevented a crash only in the last second. He groaned as he climbed the parapet, then climbed the façade in the same movement.

Adeláire could feel her heart beating to her throat, and she was looking for an alternative route for herself. Absent, she only half noticed that Verne and Francesco did it equally. On the other side, they closed up to Arno, who was waiting for them at the end of the roof.

"You do know you're a nasty poser, don’t you?" Verne's breath was still a bit heavy. This, however, did not detract him from a muttering tone.

Arno responded only with a nonchalant smile.  "I can do it, so I do it." 

Verne merely responded with a snort before he sank into the squat and devoted his attention to the building on the other side of the road.  "Ok, that’s it?"

Adeláire, Arno and Francesco did the same as Verne and followed his gaze. Adeláire noticed how Arno's eyes closed and seemed to concentrate, before his eyes explored the surroundings sharply.  "Well, there are not as many guards as suspected. But enough that we attract attention like one-legged dogs." He had lowered his voice and seemed thoughtful. 

"We should split up and explore the area. I suggest you go with Francesco and I join Adeláire. Then each group has a... gifted... with it." Verne's considerations were meaningful. And yet he couldn’t bite back the mocking undertone at the end.

Arno didn’t seem to want to go into it any further. He still focused the building before he finally rose and nodded.

"This seems to me a good plan. But as I said, make sure no one sees you." He let his eyes wander over everyone. "And don’t kill anyone."

Adeláire finally answered Arno's gaze as she rose. She didn’t know if she really could hold neutrality, but she hoped very much.

"Innocent flesh, you remember for sure." She saw the muscle that jerked at his jaw, before he turned away without a word and looked for his way over to the other roof.

Verne sighed softly as he finally rose beside her. "So if you want to get rid of him completely, then you're on the best way to achieve this. Just do us all the favor and postpone this later. We need an amicable working atmosphere, okay?" With which he jostled gently her shoulder.

Adeláire briefly massaged her painful forehead before she nodded mutely. Verne was right. Disharmony they could use the very least at the moment. She pretended to apologize to Arno when this was over.

Adeláire and Verne struck a wide arc around the facades of the building where Bonaparte had set up his office before his departure. Over and over again her senses pulsed over and analyzed the number of guards and servants. Open windows and doors, as well as passages and possible underground accesses, were checked as well as patrol routes. It was certainly not an impenetrable fortress. But with the challenge of not being sighted, the task of entering the building got even more difficult.

A while later they all met on the roof, from where they had started. Arno and Francesco were as ruminative as Adeláire and Verne.

"So, anybody any ideas?" Verne sat comfortably cross-legged on the flat roof and looked up waiting for the others, which finally followed his gesture.

"The house is not a fortress. Nevertheless, they are careful to ensure that Bonaparte's office is not illegally entered. We can’t just sneak in and hope that we somehow find a gap. We have to think of something more skillful." Francesco had brought the insights of everyone to a simple point.

"A distraction maneuver, perhaps? Any kind of surprise that at least escapes the guards from the house?" Adeláire was not really sure about her idea. But at the moment it was called to collect approaches.

Verne clicked skeptically.  "Hm, too uncertain. We can’t do such a great uprising on our own, so that it can attract all the guards. Above all, the uncertainty as to whether it would really be enough to lure out enough of the guards. And I don’t know how the others see it, but I personally wouldn’t like to inaugurate more people." Francesco and Arno nodded mutely.

"So well, what possibilities would we have?"

"We should blind ourselves into the crowd." Arno had not sat down but crouched in a relaxed squat, where he now shifted the weight.

Adeláire looked up at him and quite noticed his short, amused smile before the seriousness returned to his facial expressions. 

"Come on, settle your skirmishes when this is over. Serious suggestions, please", it came gently annoyed from Verne.

Arno's eyes let off Adeláire and he devoted himself to his friend.  "That _was_ a serious proposal. In my opinion, we should blend us disguised under the mass. It’s best to use uniforms of guards. You know, don’t attract attention, and so." That gave Arno a short grin.

"That says exactly the right one. I only remember the Hall aux Blés. This ‘don’t attract attention’ is almost legendary." Verne waved a hand in Arno's direction before rubbing his smooth-cut chin thoughtfully.  "Per se not the worst idea. The only question is how do we approach uniforms of guards? So, without killing them and provoking unintended attention?”

Thoughtful silence continued, while Adeláire returned her gaze back to the house. Concentrated, she drew the eyebrows together, rose into a crouch and peered over the edge of the roof. Her senses pulsed and her head ached with effort to reach her goal. As if torn from the wind, the conversation of the guards blew far below to her ear.

_"Let's have another drink before we get into the bunk. We'll have a few more hours until changing of guard."_

_"But you pay, Jerôme. I took all the rounds yesterday."_

_"It’s Thomás’s turn!"_

_"Not at all!"_

Adeláire's gaze followed the three young men as they turned around the corner, pushing each other toward the nearest café.

"Adeláire?" Arno asked in her back. Something inside her twitched in the way he pronounced her name and her fingers clenched around the roof edge.

"What if we follow the men at one of the Guard detachments and make it look like a robbery? Perhaps they are ashamed enough not even to report it to their Superiors." Adeláire turned back to the three other Assassins and met thoughtful looks.

"That would be a rather embarrassing incident, however, that they all wanted to keep it secret." Verne's objection was rhyme or reason, until Adeláire came up with an idea that made her smile.

Her green eyes sparkled: "What if they had all been tricked… by a girl...? This is certainly something that no man would want to confess. And certainly not at all to his Superiors." A brief, general silence followed by Verne, who bopped Arno beside him while grinning at Adeláire.

"This girl can sometimes be such a little witch." This actually made Adeláire laugh a little, before a lump once again formed in her throat, due to the odd inspecting look of Arno.

"Well, that’s probably true," he murmured softly. There followed a brief silence, while all seemed to reflect on Adeláire's suggestion. Arno looked at her so intensely that it almost made her pull up her shoulders defensively.  "Personally, I think this idea is too dangerous. It exposes you in a way that we may not be able to catch. Too many uncertainties that could destabilize such a situation."

Adeláire blinked briefly at these statements.  "Excuse me, you're just acting like I only yesterday got my blade." She could not keep the indignation out of her voice. "You haven’t seen too much of me yet. But what you know should be suffice enough to know, that I can resist my skin."

Something burned deeply in Arno's eyes, which Adeláire couldn’t interpret. A sullen silence entered the troupe. Francesco lowered his eyes and head and fiddled at his bracer. Verne rubbed his neck embarrassed.

"Arno, let the past rest. Adeláire is well trained and when she says she gets it, she gets it." That caused Dorian to turn his gaze fulgurous to Verne.

"That opinion was ..." he seemed to swallow the rest as he lowered his head again and the hood overshadowed his features. His hands closed briefly before he consciously relaxed.  "All right then. But she does not do it alone. We'll provide decent coverage." His voice sounded rough. And his facial expression emptied as he lifted his gaze back to Adeláire.  "No unnecessary risks. If they don’t let themselves in on a surprise, then break it off."

Adeláire blinked confused. Her gaze wandered back and forth between the three men. Verne gave her a soft nod to understand, that she should simply go on this "condition".

"I did not plan to do it on my own, or put my life at risk by means of unnecessary risks." Her green eyes sank openly into the brown of Arno's. "Thereon you have my word."

A silent nod on his side before he rose.  "Good, then we should find out when and where we can surprise a changing of the Guard."

Adeláire also rose and only after the end of the movement she did realize how close she had been positioned herself at Dorian.  "If everything doesn’t deceive me, the patrol, which I could observe before, disappeared in this direction."

She indicated past Arno along the road. The short press of her left hand in his right she replied as inconspicuously as he had set it. If Verne and Francesco noticed something, then they left nothing note. Smoothly, the two left their way to the right and left and sloped down the façade. Dorian gave her another quick look before he followed his friends.

 

On the road, the three male Assassins disappeared as the proverbial shadows in the cover. In the meantime, Adeláire stalked openly on the busy street and spread out her senses. Meanwhile, she nuzzled at the neckline of her blouse until she was satisfied with the visibility of the first sign of her breasts. She pushed the hood to the back of her neck and straightened the brown curls into a more acceptable hairstyle. She wondered whether she should give her weapons to one of her brothers. But she decided that in times of Revolution it was not uncommon even for women to carry weapons.

At last she found the trace of the three young guards. They enjoyed the last rays of a slowly sinking sun on the terrace of a café and had a wine bottle circling. Adeláire put on her most charming smile and added her steps towards the three something swayed in the hip.

"Oh hello there, you handsome three. What is there to celebrate with you so great? Is a woman … allowed… to participate? "

All three put down their glasses and turned confused glances at the woman with such a speech. Adeláire retained her charming smile and pulled a chair to the table before one of the three resumed his language. She put her left forearm on the table so that her bracer with the blade didn’t fall too much into the eye. Her right arm she supported on the elbow and snuggled her chin into the palm of her hand. Her gaze wandered from one guard to the next and waited, that they found the ability to speak again.

A sudden swoop went through the three and they grinned at each other before they shouted the waitress to serve another glass. "Men", Adeláire shot through her mind before she made the three guards as drunk as never before in their lives.

This targeted undertaking didn’t take too much time either. Already after a short while the three babbling nonsense more than anything else and the looks began to veil. Adeláire decided that it was now about time and she rose with a played wavering.

"Uhh gentlemen, I think I have to say goodbye slowly. It's is only me, and my way home is still long." She acted as if her tongue was too heavy to speak more clearly. And as hoped for, her choice of words seemed to work, as one of the three also rose from the table.

"I will accompany you, my lady. In times like these ... no lady can go home…alone ..." His speech was always accompanied by a small hiccup.

"No, I will accompany her!" the second young man protested.

"Nothing at all you will. You…you.. old litterbug… I'll do it!" The last of the three joined. Adeláire had to smile inside, however to the outside she simply raised her hands placatory.

"Well gentlemen, do not argue .. You can accompany me all three. Then .. then I feel so safe.. like.. like.. in Eva's lap.. Yes, exactly.." Adeláire joined the light alcohol babble and hoped that it was not too exaggerated or set up.

"That.. M’lady.. is a.. EXCELLENT idea! That's how we do it!" Why he thought he had to yell at her, escaped Adeláire's imagination. But for the moment she had achieved what she needed to achieve. Quick as a flash she let her eyes scan the roofs and dark hiding places and found what she was looking for; the familiar shadow of a crouching assassin, who might have been a water-spit. She could at the distance not figure out, who it was. But the short nod registered her as sign, that all were in position.

With the three in tow, she had no great trouble to add to her course also something wavering. When the men behind her broke into one of the revolutionary songs, she intervened for camouflage. Adroitly, Adeláire led the three into quieter streets and alleyways, until they reached an abandoned courtyard. A small fountain pattered quietly, and a cat mewed protesting over this nightly disturbance.

"Do you know... M’lady... you are real... beautiful... have you… ever said that... before?"

Adeláire suddenly found herself in a weary embrace of one of the men. Faltering and yet purposeful, he urged her to a house wall and his breath came close to hers.

"Yes... no... well... thank you...", Adeláire stammered while trying to avoid the lips of the young guard. Distracted, she spread her senses and hoped to explore whether her brothers were already near. She was all the more frightened and relieved when a dark shadow was set up behind the keen-spirited Guard. Adeláire gave him a little push, and before this man knew, a strong arm lipped his breath away.

Arno let the limp body sink to the ground and then grabbed his wrists silently, to pull him into the middle of the courtyard. There, Verne and Francesco had already taken care of the other two guards. Adeláire breathed a sigh of relief and absentmindedly buttoned her blouse a little further.

In quiet agreement, they discharged the guards of their uniforms and finally tied their hands and feet. They did not use gags, so that the men could call for help as soon as they awoke. With a last glance, to see whether they had collected all the important things, they disappeared into the sewers like shadows in the deepest night.

They found one of the transitional areas, which, exceptionally, was not populated by beggars, thieves or extremists. They decided that their own clothes and weapons were hiding well enough here and hurriedly slipped into their camouflage. Only Adeláire, meanwhile, waited at a discreet distance for them to finish, and she was already thinking about the way it might be for her to go undetected to Bonaparte's office.

"Well, that would be step two of our campaign ‘office infiltration’. What do we do now with Adeláire? She can’t simply wait outside till we're done."

"Hmm, why not?" It could not be identified, if Arno really meant this consideration or not.

"So now, really, man…" Verne's tone swung between amused and indignant.

"What? Come on. How are we going to put her there undetected?"

 Adeláire stepped to the edge of the elevated platform and looked down at the three.  "Excuse me, I'm here and present. Could you please discuss this _with_ me and not decide over my head?"

It was Francesco who broke through the awkward silence.  "What if we pose her as prisoner? She has tried to steal us and now we have to take her personal details and interrogate her if she has any accomplice. That should be enough, right?"

Verne grinned up broadly at Adeláire.  "If she unbuttons her blouse again, it may work."

Adeláire rolled her eyes only in the absence of an object that she would have liked to throw at Verne. Francesco didn’t even acknowledge this objection, and Arno allowed to be noticed something only with a furtive smile around his mouth

"Well, let's go," Dorian came before leaving the sewer to Bonaparte's office.

 

When they left behind the sewer, Adeláire allowed her hands tied up and linked arms by Verne and Francesco. Rapier and pistol Arno took over and stuck both loosely and quite attainable into his own belt. He went ahead and explored the surroundings. If one of the four was nervous, they didn’t let it stand out.

At the gateway to the inner courtyard arrived, the two Guards stopped the small group. Adeláire began to fight against the two handles for her upper arms, as if she were discharged against her will.

"Stop, stand still!" One of the men barked threateningly. "What business do you have with this woman?"

Arno walked two or three steps toward the guards and straightened his shoulders.  “The woman tried to steal us. And as we were on our way to marshall our service, we took her at once to be able to interrogate her."

The guard past a glance thru Arno to gaze at Adeláire.

"I've tried nothing! They lie! So-and-so! All three!" She gave her words a wide accent and concealed her miscellaneous phraseology. She added a vehement fight against being restrained, that it elicited a frown of the Gateguard:

"You should better bring this bucking wild cat inside. Otherwise, she'll still escape you."

Verne gave her backside a well-dumped blow, which still gave her a dull sound.  “Well, a real beast, is she here. We had us limping a bit." Adeláire acknowledged this by pinching Verne the heel of her boot on the foot-instep. She smiled with satisfaction, as he bent over and gave a hissing "Merde".

"Come on, make it. Before anybody twigs at how frightful bungling our soldiers acting." The sound of the Guard growled aggressively and the four hurriedly crossed the gate.

"Was that really necessary?" Verne whispered in the still hissing sound in her ear.

"Do not deal out, if you can’t bear the echo", it came back from her smugly smiling and also whispering.

"Your little cabbages could have cost us our camouflage. Enough now. Concentrate." Dorian's tone was low, so that only the right ears could catch the words. The humorous sarcasm was missing and the cutting timbre didn’t miss its effect. Everyone hushed in silence.

Determined they headed for Bonaparte's Office. On the way crossing Guards they nodded at least briefly, as they stroked the stairs and corridors. And, of course, the door to the premises was secured by two more Guards. Arno's steps slowed down. His shoulders took a tense line, and Adeláire could only guess what he was furiously thinking about, what kind of story he now serves up these two.

Arrived at the two, the Guards eyed the group suspicious. Her hands didn’t go to the weapons, but the one with the Halberd embraced the shank somewhat more firmly.

"What do you want with this one here? Bonaparte's Office is for all restricted area."

Arno spread out his hands in a jovial gesture and put on just such a smile. 

"We know that, of course. But all the other rooms are occupied and we actually ran out of paper and ink. Bad conditions for an interrogation, which could bring out a criminal ring that has othering us a long time. So we thought we could use the seclusion and tranquility from the Commandant's office." Arno winked intently. "He does not need to know. Egypt is so far away."

The guards watched Dorian suspiciously and then exchanged the same look with each other. When they again turned their attention to their counterpart, the hand of the speaking Guard rested on the hilt of his rapier.  "You’re freaking shitting me, right? No paper and ink? And so you want to use the supplies and the Quarters of the Commandant? You can’t be all there. Lock the woman into the cellar, get the stuff and do the interrogation tomorrow morning."

Adeláire could feel Verne's and Francesco's fingers twitching briefly around her upper arms. They mirrored, what was going on at the moment in herself. They were so close to their goal. And now they noticed that they had not thought about excuses why they were going to enter the office. Almost it was to excuse Arno, that in their haste nothing better had occurred to him. He tried to continue the jovial way and manner.  "Come on, men. When the little one sings, we enter your names into the report and you can have a slice from the awardcake. Who would we be if we could not share success with our Brothers?"

Again the two guards looked at each other.  "What the hell, Bertrând, the Commandant will never notice, and who knows, perhaps she really sings. We could use a bit of recognition."

The addressed "Bertrând" snorted abjectly, but he took his hand from his rapier's hilt.  "You and your ambitions are wont to be something under the Commandant. Hit that out of your head finally. There will never be anything like this." He paused briefly as he looked at the group again. "Well, as an absolute exception. You will put your nose in nothing there, which is nothing for you. And only paper and ink! Everything else is taboo."

Adeláire had to suppress almost spasmodically a grin when Arno actually saluted and let out a distinctly audible "Qui, mon Lieutenant.” She didn’t dare to look at Verne, but she could well imagine, that he was just like herself. The so-titillated nodded only grimly and opened the way for them. At last, inside the Office, everyone waited until the doors closed behind them before they disbanded their formation.

"Qui mon Lieutenant?" came the promptly quiet chuckling from Verne.

"So what? Camouflage is finally everything. Or would I rather have him cut my blade into the throat?"

With an almost haughty gaze, Arno freed himself of the silly military hat, and went through the dark brown hair, visibly with a sigh of relief. Adeláire refrained from a comment. The one from Verne had been quite enough. Francesco freed her from the shackles and as if to a mute signal, the four in the room swarmed and subjected him to a systematic search.

 

The four, highly concentrated, shifted through all the papers in drawers, shelves and boxes. They found lists of informants, service plans, travel plans. But nothing gave evidence of artifacts or secret searches of them.

"Nothing can be found in this goddamn office,” finally came growling from Verne after quite a while.

Adeláire was studying travel plans and comparing them with troop movements of the units assigned to Bonaparte. Much of it came from the time when he went against Austria. Frowning, she wondered why nothing could be found about the Egyptian Campaign. Why should he hide these documents or even take them with him?

"We must find connections. He will not have marked his secrets with a sign or a map." Arno's voice at the other end of the room sounded tense. Everyone in the room felt that time was running out. At some point, the guards at the door would expect results of the "interrogation".

Adeláire stretched out on the chair at the desk and felt her shoulders protest. She shook out her writing hand, with which she had copied documents and recorded notes of information for what felt like hours. Tired, she massaged her forehead and out of a simple reflex, her senses spread out in the room. Confused, blinking, she raised her eyes and tried again to concentrate. But the flickering at the edge of her perception had disappeared.

"Arno?" He didn’t turn to her as he continued to flip through documents. Only a questioning “Hm?” indicated, that he had heard her.

"Your senses are sharper and more trained than mine ..."

With raised eyebrows, he now turned to her and frowned.

Verne and Francesco paused in their search, first glancing at each other before their gaze alternated between Adeláire and Arno.  Verne begged, "Please do not tell me that you have not examined the space first with your gift."

"No, of course we have not done that. We gave up our minds when we put on these adorable uniforms."  Whether Arno wanted to fill his tone deliberately with so much sarcastic sharpness remained unclear. He closed his eyes, and Adeláire could feel the tingling sensation on her neck as his senses touched her. With his eyes still closed, he leaned his head gently as if he perceived something that could not be exactly grasped.

"Something ..." he murmured softly to himself.

"I think you have to come over here. It felt like it slips through your fingers if you approach it out from the wrong angle." Arno just nodded, moving slowly, groping toward her. Adeláire would have liked to know how he achieved to use his senses during the movement.

Arno rounded the desk several times, and Adeláire felt how he emitted impulses from time to time to get behind the secret.  "Mhm, there seems to be a secret compartment. The mechanism traverses the entire construction of the desk. And the withdrawal seems to stem from the fact that opening it up is a mystery. It almost reminds me of Saint-Denis. Use the wrong keyhole and it will cost you your life."

Verne, Francesco, and Adeláire had resigned from the table, instinctively stepping back more steps regarding Arno's ending considerations.

"You mean it's kind of a bomb?" Verne's tone swayed amused and shocked.

Arno sank behind the table and took off the gloves of his uniform. Gently, he stroked the underside of the desk and seemed to concentrate intensively.  "That’s probably unlikely. Bonaparte would not risk ravaging his own office. But maybe something like, that it destroys the information in the secret compartment. If only…" His voice sank to a murmur before he closed his eyes again and continued to palpate the underside.

Adeláire unconsciously stopped the air. Cautiously, she also spread her senses, not to disturb Dorian. She only got a shimmering blip of what he probably perceived before this particular inner eye. Cautiously, his fingertips glided over tracks of the mechanism, before finally paused, hovering, giving the three waiters a glimpse.  "On which our luck today has not decided to be a bastard..."

Adeláire sensed Verne and Francesco beside her hold a breath as well than Arno pressed the secret point of the mechanism. For a short time nothing happened before a click and creak began. Slowly, finally, the desk plate began to dissolve from the rest of the table, elevating itself by the mechanism of it. Underneath, she released the true plate and a hollow space, filled with other documents.

As for a common sign, all four in the room breathed out and let taut shoulders sink. Cautiously, Arno reached for the resulting space and dispatched the documents to the wrong work table, which now lay two feet on a metal pedestal over the other. Verne and Francesco were just about to join Arno at the table when a fist vehemently thundered at the door.

"How long do you still need in there? The maid has already asked twice if she can aerate." That sounded quite like the voice of the 'Lieutenant'. Hastily, they exchanged glances before Verne soothingly lifted his hands.  "I'll do that. Take care of the documents. And... hurry up...” he said, opening the door only so far that he could squeeze himself through and disappearing outside.

Arno, Francesco, and Adeláire spread around the strange desk and began to pick the documents apart. If Adeláire had not already had a headache, now definitely one would begin. It was not as such comprehensive information as they had hoped. But it became clear that Bonaparte had not just recently been searching for Pieces of Eden. Saint-Denis only had been one of the many traces he had pursued.

"What is all this crazy stuff?" came from a confused Francesco. "I mean, I've heard of the Eden apple. And that Mentor Auditore kept him safe back then. But this? A cloth that Jesus raised from the dead? Seriously?" Adeláire looked up and let her eyes wander from Francesco to Arno. The latter was the only one of them who already had experienced two artifacts in action. His response was correspondingly low.

"After what I’ve seen, whereto the sword and the lamp were capable of, I think a lot is possible regarding such artifacts,” Arno stated, his voice low. 

Adeláire again devoted herself to the jumble of research that spread before her.  "All right, everything here speaks volumes about Bonaparte's researches. But there is no evidence that he has actually found something. I have the feeling we overlooked something."

Concentrating, they continued to probe the documents. Francesco drew out one of the books, which was obviously one of Bonaparte's diaries. They barely noticed Verne returning to the room.

"Did you find something?" With great strides, he joined them at the desk and looked out over the jumble of documents.

"Nothing... it simply will not show anything concrete." Adeláire felt the frustration rising not only in her voice, but also in her chest.

"What the hell...” came from Arno.

Three questioning eyes turned to him as he sat up with a letter in his hand straightened behind the desk.

"A letter .." he lifted it briefly to the nose to lower it again, "…evidently from a lady. She writes Bonaparte that the Artifact was sent from Saint-Denis to Cairo and that he should continue his search there."

Adeláire's eyebrows shot up.  "From whom is the letter?"

Arno's facial expressions were gloomily thoughtful.  "He's just signed with 'E'." He folded the document again and weighed it thoughtfully. "I wonder whether it has anything to do with this Lady Eve, which was revealed to me through Rose's memories in Saint-Denis back then." His last sentence was spoken more thoughtfully to himself, than to his friends. They exchanged simply confused looks, until Adeláire butted in to ask.  "Who is Lady Eve?"

Arno looked up at her, his frown fading just slowly.  "I've been wondering about that since then. I’ve never been able to find the slightest reference to her again. And believe me, whenever I am lucky enough to get a Templar in my hands, I have researched for her. In Rose's memories, he had been instructed to give the artifact to her instead of Bonaparte. Since then, this lady has disappeared from the ground."

There was a brief silence before Francesco spoke for the first time in this office.  "Well, that shows us at least that we were correct with the assumption that Bonaparte invaded Egypt because of the artifact. And we can only hope and pray that the brotherhood has kept it there safely and withstand him. The question remains, does he already have one? "

Adeláire turned back to the documents and tried to get a certain order into them. With rather moderate success. Bonaparte seemed to have gathered wild information-snippets and had failed in an attempt to bring them into context. The only handful trace had probably given him the letter of this "E".  "I think if he had already had one, he wouldn’t have set out into this crusade. We must not forget what financial immensity devours such an undertaking."

Arno nodded to her remarks while still weighing the letter in his hands.  "Adeláire is right. Bonaparte is a pragmatic and goal-oriented Commandant. He wouldn’t risk such resources unnecessarily."

Again, a brief silence entered, before Verne broke through this time.  "Well, what now? Strike the sails and research elsewhere?"

Arno looked thoughtfully at the jumble of documents and finally put the letter back into it. Gently he pushed it all together again and then went into the crouch to relocate the desk back again in its original state.  "We should stick to our plan and investigate Bonaparte's villa. Perhaps there we'll find clues that tell us more." As he rose again, he met three thoughtful looks, each in his own way. Francesco finally nodded silently while Adeláire continued to eye up Arno thoughtfully.

It was Verne who finally took the floor.  "A thin track. But I think we Assassins have followed in the past already much thinner ice. Sometimes more or less successful." He grinned briefly before turning away and looking for his uniform hat. Then he picked up the rope with which they had bound Adeláire’s hands at the beginning of their undertaking. With a wider grin than before, he turned to her and stretched the knit twice with a dull snap.

"So then, let's get out of here. Would you be so kind, dearie?" Adeláire sighed and rolled her eyes, but stretched out her wrist acquiescently. Oftentimes, Verne enjoyed certain moments just too much.

 

It was late night, when their feet finally entered the familiar ground of Café Théâtre. They had freed their things from the sewers and didn’t take the trouble to remove the uniforms. Unanimously and without big discussion, they had decided to keep the uniforms. Perhaps they were still useful to them at the infiltration of Bonaparte's Villa.

Arno offered them all rooms to spend the night. Even though the barracks of the Sanctuary were not far away, a private bed was still the favorite solution for each of the four. And it made the collaboration much easier if Arno didn’t have to ask Madame Gouze to send a message to the sanctuary each time.

Adeláre remained hesitantly on the threshold of her room. Verne and Francesco said goodbye without hesitation and closed the doors behind them. Arno turned away from the rooms of his two friends and wanted to go past her in the direction of his own bed. The flickering of the candle in his hand brightened his questioning features. Embarrassed, Adeláire rubbed a strand of hair behind her ear and straightened her shoulders  "Arno... I... wanted to apologize." Her voice sounded brittle. And it didn’t help that he raised the eyebrows confused.

"For what?"

"Because of... innocent flesh... and so. It was in no way appropriate and to be honest, I do not know why I said something stupid like that." Uncomfortably, she wrapped her arms around her center of the body. But somehow it didn’t offer her the security that she had hoped for.

A gentle smile was also filled with warmth by the candle flame.  "Accepted." She saw the little movement and hesitation, then stop. "Sleep well... Adeláire..." The gentle sound of speaking her name once again sent shivers down her spine.

Before she could hold onto, she walked up to him with two quick steps. Her hand came to rest on his evenly beating heart, while her lips found his at a far too brief kiss. She thanked all that was present at the moment that he didn’t stir to her gesture. Whether out of surprise, or from reserve. It gave her the strength to resign just as quickly, to give him a short smile, and to close the door behind her with a sigh of relief.

She felt her wild beating heart almost burst her breast while she leaned her back against the closed door and tried to breathe. Mutely, she prayed, that he was not knocking now. She knew she couldn’t resist it. She breathed a sigh of relief again as she heard his departing steps and the closing of a door. And yet, something rumored in her with the knowledge that this was not yet over.

 

 


	9. Fearless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the first glimpse of who might be behind of all this, what seems to be a Mission, the Team around Arno and Adeláire are investigating the next Target: Bonapartes Town Hall.  
> But the whole Team is reminded, that the Live as an Assassin isn't always a safe one. Well trained or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is another Chapter without Editing/Lectoring by a Native.  
> So, if you find any wrong Grammar or something else, please let me know!  
> Appreciate any help.. :-)

\----------------------------------------- Paris, Tuilerien, June 1799 _\-------_

 

 

Adeláire stretched out in her crouching position on the roof, then let her shoulders circling as well as her head. For days they had been lying on the lurk, watching Bonaparte's Townhouse. After Francesco had told the Council what they had found out about Egypt, the four didn’t hesitate another day to tackle their next goal. Unhappily, the whole household seemed like a busy beehive. And so far they had not been able to find out what was the reason.

Verne quietly stepped up and also crouched down next to her. Shortly he numbered at her from the side and then gripped vigorously in her shoulder muscles. Adeláire escaped a relieved sigh as her chin leaned on her chest.

"Hold out girl. We'll find an access." Verne's voice didn’t sound convincing after the past few days. Sighing, Adeláire sank into a sitting position and laid down the arms on her knees.

"I just don’t understand why the whole house is like a swarm of locusts. It's as if Robespierre's henchmen were behind them." Enervated, she massaged her aching forehead. "What do Arno and Francesco say? Did they find anything?" Verne just shook his head silently and seemed to concentrate briefly on the bustle among them.

"No, nothing really useful. The challenge to get in and out of this chaos unseen, while still looking for Bonaparte's most private spaces undisturbed... " He didn’t have to complete his sentence to describe the undertaking in his entire severity.

Silently, the two Assassins sat on the roof for a while, watching the extremely busy hustle and bustle.

"Did you actually talk to Arno again?" Adeláire blinked confused as to the extreme change of subject.

"Uh... what about?" Verne apparently consciously kept his gaze from her.

"Well, about your little collision last... and what's that supposed to be between you and him..."

Adeláire didn’t know at the first moment whether she should be upset about his question or just not take it seriously. Verne was a very close friend to her. For no other reason would he dare ask such questions. In addition, he was also Arno's friend. Nevertheless, she took the moment to think about whether he was crossing the boundaries. And Verne himself seemed to think about it as well. For he left her the time she needed.

"So I don’t know why you want to talk about such a topic in a situation like this, in which we are at the moment. I can comprehend, that you are friends with both of us and you’re giving many thoughts about it. But don’t you think that the timing is conceivably badly chosen?" Verne just shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at her. There was more than one concern in the gray eyes.

"I'm not just thinking Adeláire. I'm worried. I know you. And I know him. You are both not the simplest characters. Each one of you carries his own trauma with him. And I'm just not sure if you're benefit each other." Verne raised his gaze back into far distance.

"I've already told you; Arno is someone you can like very easily. And I believe, one you can fall in love with very quickly too. Nevertheless, he is who he is. The things he had to experience were enough for more than one life to destroy a human being. And he's still there and just goes on and on. No idea how he manages this. And much less I have a clue, whether he will ever be able to love someone with all his heart." Verne fixed her intensely, that it let Adeláire swallow.

"Élise was his great love. He knew, and probably loved her since he was eight years old. As you know, they have worked together for a long time to find the murderer of Élise' father and Arnos Fosterfather. We have to admit, that they have grown into an extremely powerful team at this time. She was trained as a Templar in combat as well as we are Assassins. And yet ... it was not enough." Verne was silent for a moment again. His wandering gaze returned to her.

"It has destroyed him Adeláire. And how he managed to get back together again, none of us knows. Arno was always reserved, hiding behind his sharp, sarcastic humor. But what followed on Élise's death was... different... And it's still there. It’s like sore flesh, which he tries to protect even after all these years. And to which he will not open himself up to anyone." Silence entered, to which Adeláire didn’t really know what to say.

"Why are you telling me all this? And why ironically now?" Her voice sounded brittle and tense. And his gray eyes looked sad as he turned to her again.

"Because I want you to know, to what you're engage yourself Adeláire. Anyone who knows you can see, that Arno is more for you than an Assassinbrother. And far more than the beau, with whom you’ve surrounded yourself. You're also someone who is afraid of intense feelings like a burning fire." He grabbed her hand briefly and squeezed it intensively. "I just don’t want two of my closest friends to injure each other. And not yet even willingly, but simply, because they are who they are. Do you understand that?"

Adeláire nodded silently after a while and looked out over the rooftops of Paris. In the last few days, she had been reluctant to keep distance from Arno, even if the night at the café didn’t make this task much easier. She, herself often sleepless, had experienced an Arno on her nocturnal, barefoot expeditions, who barely kept an eye. In two or three moments she had been able to observe, how he spent the night writing at his desk, or took and read letters from the box on the table by the wing chair.

An approach in her direction on his part hadn’t been given again. Since her nightly, almost timid kiss, opportunities had opened, but neither of them was willing to use them. As always, when she thought intensively, she bit furtively at her lower lip.

"What do you think, should I talk to him?" Verne held his gaze in the distance.

"About what? You currently don’t even know what you actually feel. And much less what you really want." He fixed her intensively. "Correct me if I'm wrong." Adeláire blushed red and removed her gaze away from him.

"You see. And as long as you don’t know, I'd advise you to leave your fingers off. You have only one chance with him to open his heart a little. If you screw up, he'll close the bulkheads and throw away the key for it. You will need time and patience. Unless, and I can’t emphasize enough, unless you _really_ want to be close to him..."

His conclusion sounded like a question, and Adeláire could almost physically feel his seeking examine. She felt like a little girl, still strengthened by the fact, that she wriggled at the hems of her cloak in her lap. Verne prevented it by grabbing her hands again and raising her chin to himself.

"You know I like you Adeláire. Like a little sister. And I’m like always there to talk, at any time. But I can’t force you to think about these things. Only one thing I _can_ do is: _plea_ you, to think about them. It would break my heart, if you break the one of the other."

Adeláire swallowed hard and she almost felt, how it began to ascend hot in her eyes. The intensity with which Verne discussed all this left her halfway wordlessly. It also reflected a great deal of her own thoughts. And it was good to know in Verne a friend with whom she could talk about it. Before she even came to reply, a shrill alarm whistle tore the situation.

Without much thought, the two Assassins were on their feet and ducked over the roof edge. Adeláire spread her senses as far as she could to capture what the alarm signal meant.

Deep among them, in a split second, it was clear what status they were in. Thick swaths of smoke bombs spread in the street below them, and a wild turmoil came to their ears. Adeláire re-enforced her senses and finally found Francesco and Arno in the swamp. One of the two was more carried away by the other when they fled, than that he ran himself.

"I think one of the two is injured." Verne and Adeláire glided over the roof edge without further adjustment and swung themselves down the fastest way.

Even before they arrived downstairs, they also covered their come in with smoke bombs. Adeláire activated her senses and pulled the rapier out of her belt. The number of guards, coughing and searching in the swaths, had assumed a worryingly high number. She felt Verne's hand on her shoulder.

"No fight. Let's concentrate on disappearing." Adeláire didn’t even have to nod to his words to know, that he relied on the right decisions. Without a word, they covered Francesco's and Arno's escape until they found an underground entrance. Just gone down in the dark, they were allowed to breathe, and Adeláire was able to deal with the thought, which of the two was now injured.

Arno couldn’t suppress a cursing cry of pain when Francesco let him slip to the ground. His left hand cramped over his right side, just below the last ribs. Even though it was dark, the smell of blood could clearly be make up. From a very lot of blood. Adeláire could feel her heart halting in her chest as she sank beside him and desperately pressed her hands to his.

"How did this happen?", it finally came from Verne.

Francesco bled himself out of a wound on his thigh and rubbed absently Arnos blood on the cloak.

"To be honest, no idea. I held position on one of the roofs, and Arno was on the ground. When he came back to me and we were just wondering how we wanted to go on, a gunshot slammed suddenly and... well..." With a hand movement, he described Arno, who was breathing flat on the ground.

"Merde... Diable... We must take him to the hospital in the sanctuary. Otherwise he would us still bleed to death here."

Still with a wild beating heart and completely empty head, Adeláire rose and pulled her blouse out of the covenant. She quickly tore off a few lanes and tried to improvise a bandage. Arno cursed cunningly as they pulled him back to his feet and Adeláire doctored him with the provisional. Verne and Francesco took Arno between them and laid one of his arms over their shoulders. As soon as they had left the underground, Arno's head fell on his chest, and his weight became that of an unconscious.

"Diable... hurry...", cursed Verne cautious.

Adeláire could do nothing more than secure the surroundings and lead them around guards and other people, against whom they were more than suspicious. She thanked all the divine as they finally reached one of the numerous accesses to the underground catacombs of the Sanctuarium. Scarcely dipped into the darkness of the rock walls, Adeláire ran before to inform the hospital.

 

Verne and Francesco had cleared the hospital very soon when they handed over Arno. A systematic, but hasty, bustle had begun, and a few skilled hands had administer the wound. Adeláire had been standing in a corner all the time and could only observe the much too pale face with the dark hair strands in the forehead. Now and again her eyes had to wander to his bare chest to make sure that it was still lifted and lowered. She scarcely registered the healer, who after all approached her and squeezed her shoulder gently.

"He'll be all right. No fear. He has lost a lot of blood and the wound is quite evil. But if she does not ignite in the next days, he will soon be quite the same again." Adeláire just nodded, still glancing at the shape, which was now carefully restored into one of the hospital beds.

"Now you should lie down a little as well. He’ got enough opium to sleep through the night. And you should do that too." Adeláire blinked, confused.

"What? Took Opium?" The nurse smiled warmly.

"No. Sleep. Medical prescription." Again, Adeláire nodded silently before she went around the nurse and headed for Arno's sick-bed.

Without sense of time, she sat at his bed. She hadn’t been nurtured devoutly, but still she begged silently to somebody or -thing, that they might not take him from her now. After all, it was sheer exhaustion that made her fall asleep at the bottom of his bed, curled up like a cat.

The restless movement beneath her was, what finally awoke her. Drowsily she thrashed herself upright and rubbed her eyes. Arno was not yet awake, but caught in a dream. With a pain, his facial expressions twitched before he half-opened his eyes. His gaze was glazed due to the opium effects. He seemed to fix Adeláire, who had half bent forward, and now raised above him, and yet to see through her. His whisper was almost so soft that it wasn’t alleged to be heard.

“Èlise..?” Powerless, a hand reached out to her.

It caused such a shock to Adeláire that it made her gasp painfully. It squeezed her heart in her chest, as if someone would close his fist around it. As in the reflex, her right hand lay over her breast and she retreated to the end of the bed. Meanwhile, Arno's hand dropped and he slid back into an opium-impregnated sleep.

"I told you, she was since he could think of the love of his life..." Verne's voice sounded softly and gently from the entrance to her. Adeláire turned her burning eyes to the wall and owed an answer. How the hell was he always at the right Moment in the right Place? Finally she gave herself a jerk and pulled her hood in the forehead before she rose from the bed and wanted past Verne with lowered head.

"I should ..." Verne grabbed her by the shoulders and held her up.

"...stay here. That you should", it came again in this gentle tone. She raised her eyes and could hardly make him out through the tears swimming in her eyes.

"What stupidities am I doing here? He will never again let someone into his heart, like he did with her." Verne smiled gently and sadly.

"No, he will not. But he will do it in a different way. Believe me. He has a good heart, under all the protection he has built up. It just takes time. With him, as well as with you." Gently he took her face between his hands and his thumbs stroked the treacherous tears on her cheekbones.

"Take one of the beds, give yourself some sleep, and in a few hours the world looks quite different." Again, he smiled this gentle smile, gave her a kiss on the cheek and finally turned to go.

"Thanks... for everything... today..." He turned halfway to her and winked cheerfully.

"That’s what big brothers are for."

 

Adeláire had only got rid of her weapons and cloak, and otherwise stretched out dressed on the bed opposite Arnos. Without natural light in the hospital, it was impossible to say how late it was when she slowly slid over to the waking state. Still a little sleepy, she squinted in the waking and met brown eyes, which watched her from the opposite bed.

Adeláire blinked and realized that she didn’t seem to dream anymore. Arno was awake, watching her and finally smiled gently, though clearly exhausted and tired. She sensed that she could do no more than return that smile just as gently. She embed her head on one arm and made herself more comfortable lying on the side.

“How are you?" Her tone was low, as if it would cause him pain by loudness. He made a bit of a face.

"It feels horrible. As if someone had ripped me out each rib individually." He coughed and clenched with a pain sound. At the next cursing, >Diable< was the most harmless thing he used. Adeláire rose hastily and sought something drink-able. After all the Opium and blood loss his throat had to be dry like a desert.

Carefully, she finally slid her hand into his neck to lift his head to drink. With horror she realized, that he was glowing with sweat. He tried to get up, which she prevented with the greatest of ease.

"Leave this. You'll just tear the wound open again." She held her voice gently but unyieldingly. She had filled the cup only slightly with water so that he could drink in small sips. Again, he made a bit of a face.

"A good Bordeaux would be dearer to me now." His voice sounded weak and cautious, and carefully she let him sink back into the pillows. Gently, almost tenderly, she drew a dark streak from his forehead.

"Of course. Because Bordeaux is so wonderful with opium." He grinned obliquely and suddenly breathed flat due to a wave of pain.

"Take a rest. I'm going to look for the nurse." Adeláire sat up from the bed edge as his hand closed around her forearm. She looked at him questioningly, and didn’t know to interpret if what she read in his gaze was due to the fever, or something completely different.

"Thank you ..." His voice was only a whisper before he closed his eyes, relaxed into the pillow and slid back into the resting sleep. Carefully, Adeláire tended over him and gave the hot, sweaty forehead a gentle kiss.

"You’re welcome...", spoke and finally rose to report to the nurse about his condition.

 

\--------------------------------

 

Adeláire lost any sense of time in the hospital. But it was certainly days that she spent at the bed of the feverish Arno and took the nurse’s work off. Fortunately, the wound had not been inflamed, but the path of healing remained cumbersome. When the fever finally subsided, all involved participants breathe a sigh of relief and something like tired relaxation dared to cease. This also led to, that Adeláire sank into a deep, dreamless sleep from which she awoke only when the hum of a male conversation forced itself on. Just as she wanted to give a sign of awake, she paused.

"She likes you, you know that, right?" This voice she did not recognize. And yet something tweaked at her memories, that she should. The question was followed by silence.

"Mhm .." Arno, he was awake. And obviously strong enough to face the conversation of the counterpart.

"Come on Dorian. A blind man can see that. And she wouldn’t take care of your feverish ass for days, if she didn’t have sense for you." The man seemed to hesitate, to be silent, before he continued.

"And I hope, you don’t disappoint her. I know her not as well as our dear Verne, but that she is friends with him and Francesco is enough for me to not want to see her suffer."

"Because of me, no one should ever suffer again..." The silence weighed heavily, which followed these words. "...or die." Again, continuing silence.

"You know I didn’t like her. But she was much too young to die. I'm sorry, man. And I'm sorry I didn’t tell you that years ago." Again a break followed.

"Why do you say it to me now Jean? Until a few days ago, we could hardly cross each other without getting into conflict." Now Adeláire knew why the voice seemed so familiar to her; LaHache. Hadn’t he and Arno quarreled? Adeláire heard the foreign Assassin scooping across the floor with one foot.

"You know, I've lost a lot of brothers in all those years since I joined the Assassin’s. When I heard that you were badly wounded, I realized somehow how tired I am to stand at graves." Again silence spread out in the room.

"I know very well what you mean... my friend..." Arno's voice sounded softly, cautiously. And what followed in his words sounded as if hands were encircled underarms and a very old hatchet would be buried.

Adeláire decided to give up her quasi-secret listening post and began, a slow awakening pretending, to loll in the sheets.

"Well, look who's resurrected from the dead."

Adeláire had fallen asleep with her back turned to Arno, so she was now rolling around in her bed to make eye contact. Someone had stuffed Arno pillows in the back so he could sit a little more upright in the bed. LaHache sat roping on a chair, his arms resting on the back. The latter smiled openly from a beard more than three days old. Arno, on the other hand, still seemed to be occupied to get rid of the conversation with LaHache and the old memories. When his brown eyes met her, she still saw the dark shadows fade before he smiled gently at her.

"I'm sorry I exhausted you so much. I heard you took all the work from the nurses?" Before she could prevent it, Adeláire felt herself turned red. Embarrassed, she rose to a sitting position on the bed and brushed her tangled hair behind her ears.

"That would be absolutely exaggerated expressed. I... just... took care of you a little..." LaHache laughed loudly that it was almost ringing in Adeláire’s ears.

"So, according to Vernes and Francesco's reports, you have hardly left his side for a moment sweetheart. Perhaps you should practice fibbing again." Adeláire felt, that the embarrassment was replaced by anger, which didn’t change anything at further blushing. Her voice sounded correspondingly poisonous as she set an answer.

"My name is Adeláire and not >sweetheart<. I‘m unaware, that I know you Monsieur. Let alone, that I would have given you the same liberties as Verne." LaHache raised his hands defensively and whistled briefly honouring through his teeth.

"Wuohw sweet... ehm... Adeláire... Take it easy. Nobody wants you anything here." His grin wandered to Arno, while his gaze moved slowly from her and over to the other bed. "Well, you've picked something nice. Tame is now really different." Arno's gaze rested with a strange smile on her as he answered.

"Well, did you really expect an Assassin's Sister to be described as handy?"

"Would be bad, if it were so. If she did, she'd rather not join a murderous secret Cult." Verne's answer to the question, which was not really serious, came from the door to them. How long he had been leaning there and listening to everything, none of the three could say. Adeláire crossed her arms in front of her chest and drew a sinister expression.

"Are all now finished with their jokes on strangers cost?"

"Nana, now brush your ruffled fur smoothly. In our fellowship it just goes a little bit rougher now and then. Not true Verne?" LaHache still grinned at Adeláire while Verne entered the room.

"Hm, to be honest, actually only when you're with Jean." Latter half turned around in his chair and gave Verne an obscene gesture.

"You abject brother traitor. If we do not bind together yet, who will?" Verne grinned down at LaHache.

"All others except you, Pig-Head."

"Pah ... Ta gueule[1]...!"

Adeláire felt her anger slowly dissolve thanks to Verne. Seeking, she looked around for her clothes and found them out of reach. Arno would already know her in her “birthday suit”, but this was not the case for Verne, much less for LaHache. Embarrassed, she nipped two or three buttons to her blouse and draped the bedsheet around her waist. Finally, her unsteady gaze fell upon Arno and was held there by brown eyes. While LaHache and Verne were still friendly squabbling, Arno implied that they should get rid of the two. Softly smiling, she nodded mutely.

"Mes amis, as much as I appreciate your visit, but I think I'd like to recover a bit more."

Adeláire wondered if Arno himself would believe these words, if they had been presented to him. They didn’t sound convincing for her ears. And the grin of the two, mentioned as friends, showed clearly, that they didn’t go particularly different. However, Verne hit LaHache on the shoulder and picked up the thrown ball.

"Come on, big pal. Let us give the good Arno a little more rest. We still need him. And hopefully soon." A wink shot at Adeláire, before Verne turned his back to the room and started walking away. LaHache rose from his chair and set it aside. Then he nodded silently to Arno before turning to Adeláire and reached out his stoutly right Hand.

"By the way... Jean... Jean-Jacques LaHache. Pleased to meet you Adeláire." He smiled openly, his eyes as dark as Arnos, radiating a pleasant warmth. Adeláire replied the smile, and snatched the offered hand.

"Adeláire Fontaine. Very pleased as well Jean." A short, strong hand print, before LaHache tapped with a gallant gesture briefly on the forehead and then also left the room.

As soon as they had left the room, Arno quietly heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows. Adeláire rose from her sleeping camp and slipped hastily into her breeches. Carefully, she settled down on Arno's bedside and gently inspected the bandages.

"Hm, they must be renewed. I'll go quickly and tell the nurse." But before she could get up, his hand caught her and made her turn her gaze at his facial expressions. His dark hair was woozy of fever, and his skin color was still too pale. But she could see that he was much better. In his gaze lay warmth and almost costly he looked at her features. She could only guess how untidy she might appear momentarily. And certainly almost as exhausted as he himself.

"Thank you... Adeláire..." She smiled gently.

"You said that already." He blinked briefly, making her laugh softly. "After the first night, you were briefly something like awake. You've already felt the need to thank me." Yes, definitely, she liked this mischievous, boyish smile on him.

"I'm sorry if I should repeat myself. But this time, I hope I will at least remember, that I said it, and try to avoid further redundancies." Again, she laughed a faint laugh.

"Well, if you can express yourself in such specifically chosen way again, you are actually better." Gently she returned the pressure of his hand and wanted to rise to find the sister. Again he stopped her. Adeláire's gaze turned into a question and was answered by a gesture. Arno's free hand lifted and brushed the tangled hair behind her ear. Softly, fingertips pushed into her neck and she had to ask nothing questioningly in order to know whereupon this run out.

"You're injured...", she whispered softly.

"No Man has died of such a thing...", he whispered softly as well, while his drag in her neck brought her closer to him.

"We should not..." His breath was close to hers and her vision was filled with dark eyes.

"Give me one good reason why we should not." His voice sounded rough.

"We... I..." She could feel his smile close to her lips.

"Shut up…"

Their words were so gentle that one could almost hold them for a whisper of the wind. Gentle, tender, cuddly was the kiss, which they shared. He almost felt a little innocent, if it were not his free hand, which warmly on her skin moved up her spine, and snuggled her closer to him.

Adeláire swarmed the senses and she felt a lump narrowing her throat. All the tension changed in relief. Facilitating that he would live and get well. Softly tentatively, she let her fingertips stray from his temple into dark hair. And who would have been able to say how long they had enjoyed each other in this way, if Arno would not jerked among her suddenly hissing with sudden pain, as she shifted her weight a little.

"Diable ..." he growled restrained. Adeláire backed away from him and glanced quickly at the bandages. No blood. So they had not rigged up a seam.

"Merde... I… I'm sorry... so much to it, that no Man has ever died of such a thing." She didn’t like the pitch between desperate excuse and remorseful growling. Arno grimaced on that merely painfully his face a little wry, before he relaxed again and sank back into the pillows.

"That, I wanted to make since you were awake." Adeláire chuckled amused.

"What? Feeling Pain?" Arno smiled softly. Sadness seemed to glide over his features, as so often in moments in which it was valid to confront feelings. Unsure, Adeláire lowered her hands in her lap and didn’t know what to do or say.

"Even if you do not perhaps notice it all… to often... I appreciate people who take care for me at such moments." Adeláire smiled softly, stroking this always rebellious strand of dark brown hair from his forehead.

"As Verne once said so nicely, it's easy to like you. And beyond that, you are a Brother, Order and Creed or not. That alone would suffice, if..." She swallowed and didn’t know what to do any more. Her hand sank back into her lap.

"If ...?" Why had she only known, that he wouldn’t just simply leave this unfortunate end in the Room. Embarrassed, she turned her eyes away.

"Well, if… there was not… something else..." She didn’t dare to lift her voice. So she almost descended into a whisper. The silence between them stretched almost intolerably. Adeláire finally turned her gaze back to him and didn’t know what to expect. All the more surprised was the calm warmth radiating from him.

Still silent, he picked up her hand and led the inside of her left wrist to his lips. He seemed neither willing to give a corresponding reply to her words, nor to investigate further in depth what exactly she was trying to express with what was said. And somehow she was more than grateful to him at that moment.

Almost painfully it tore them both apart as the sister entered with an >Ah, the patient is awake<-call. In short, their eyes held on to each other before Adeláire rose and yielded to the sister's persecution.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Adeláire had moved her study more or less to the hospital. They were lucky that most of the Assassins seemed to be prudent in their missions and were hardly any injured to provide. Her copies of Bonaparte's documents occupied one of the beds, while unceremoniously transformed the supply table into a desk.

Arno recovered steadily, but for his taste probably not fast enough. He was often strolling through the hallways of the Sanctuary, and was finally carried back halfway by one of the Assassins, who were delegated to throw an eye on him. Adeláire had given up at some point to comment on these excursions. Unquestioningly, after such occasions, she merely inspected the bandages and then devoted herself to the fuss of the information again.

Arno finally returned from one of his excursions without any foreign support. Still cautiously choosing his steps, he crossed the sickbay, focused, balancing two cups of coffee. Adeláire stretched out her hands to take one of them from him, and suck in the scent at once savoring.

"That comes at precisely the right time." Arno rounded the table and set his cup off. He propped his hands right and left besides her, and gently snuggled to her back. Sighing softly, Adeláire straightened from her half-bended posture and enjoyed the feeling of his chest, which raised and lowered in breathing. Dumbly they enjoyed the moment as he was, without the need to have to overfill it with words.

Adeláire finally raised her left hand and let gentle fingertips slipping over his throat line into his neck. She turned half in his arms and didn’t have to wait long for the warm lips. If they had not been able to use all the time in the sickbay for intimacy, then for one or another, quite equally intimate, conversation. They had clearly come closer, though many secrets still lurked behind many walls. Especially this one, which grew around the nature of their feelings, and which both dreaded like the devil hates holy water.

When they finally separated from each other appreciatively, his left arm clenched around her waist and pulled her closer to him. With his right, he fished after the previously parked coffee cup.

"Slowly I think we should see, that we gather more information. If even Paton doesn’t find a line in this mess, it may be really hopeless." Arno seemed to think briefly. "Or we’re simply missing too much." Adeláire also took her coffee and looked at the mess on the table in front of her and a bit away on the hospital bed.

“Hm, you're probably right."

"Well, then maybe you will be happy that the working part of the team finally found something."

Verne grinned at these words broadly and pushed the hood in the neck. Behind him, Francesco and Jean followed. Arno separated from her and stepped half round the table. How Verne always got such an appropriate timing for his appearance, Adeláire remained a mystery.

"You have continued to investigate while..."

"...while you’re playing Sleeping Beauty? But, of course we do. The job does not take care of itself." LaHache grinned broadly through his beard and made himself comfortable on one of the free beds.

"You... did you help?" Arno raised his eyebrows, then gave questioning glances to Verne and Francesco. The latter looked for a chair, let himself down, and, failing to answer the question, crossed his legs. Verne finally leaned with the hip against the treatment table and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, you are both, so to speak... absent. Then Francesco and I thought that a little reinforcement would not be a bad idea. And if you agree, then I would strongly advocate our team to strengthen to five men. Who likes to renounce LaHache's _mon petit cherie_." What made him and Jean grin wide and Arno smirked. Francesco remained silent, as did Adeláire.

Arno finally glanced over his shoulder to Adeláire and then let him wander to Francesco, who behaved remarkably calm.

"Cesco, your opinion?" Arno finally asked him in a neutral tone. Francesco raised his eyes to Arno, then left him to LaHache and back again. Mutely, he fixed Verne a moment before he answered.

"Depends on whether all can pull themselves together. I personally do not feel like repeating the Marcourt-Disaster. If you could assure me that you behave like adult men, then... yes... then we should enlarge the team."

Francesco had always had the peculiarity of getting things to the point. This was probably the characteristic, that linked him and Arno so closely and made them such good friends. So Arno merely nodded at his request.

"Accepted."

„J’ai aussi[2]“, it came only from LaHache. Francesco nodded mutely and earnestly.

"Good. Then we can continue. Verne?" He took the ball and turned his gaze to Adeláire and Arno.

"That's why we all came back here together, as we said at the beginning, we finally found something." This time it was Adeláire, who raised her eyebrows in amazement while Arno simply sipped his coffee. Verne grinned and finally became serious.

"The reason for the whole upheaval in the town hall was that Joséphine bought a house in the country. And she's already starting to divide her household here and to establish some things away to Malmaison. That is why the many arrivals, deliveries, people, staff. However, we have not yet been able to find out exactly how she intends to deal with Bonaparte's private affairs and whether she wants to give up the town hall entirely. The ones, we were able to ask, were of the opinion, that she would probably wait with this decision until he returned from Egypt." Adeláire crossed her arms in front of her chest and began to pace back and forth behind the table.

"This means that there are diverse questions. Among other things, whether she will leave the Townhouse at some point and move to Malmaison with the split household. If that were the case, we might have a better access to the Townhouse. Only then would it be possible to find out whether there was anything else to be found for us or whether she had taken everything with her. If she had taken everything, we would have to infiltrate this country house as well." Adeláire stopped her trek and raised her left hand against her lower lip to prevent herself from biting. Confused, she met the broad grin of LaHache.

"Don’t withhold them all the good news." Adeláire and Arno looked questioningly at Verne, who also grinned briefly.

"How well can you both dance?" Adeláire blinked and briefly glanced at Arno, before they both fixed Verne again. Adeláire apparently found at first her tongue again.

"Ehm... why are you coming to such a question now?" Verne grinned again.

"Well, because the good Joséphine organized a Paris farewell in the Town Hall. Quasi for all those friends, which she will then probably not so often get to see. In which one or the other, she is perhaps not so very sad about it. But this is a different story." Verne seemed to feel a thieving pleasure regarding the lore advantage towards Arno and Adeláire.

"And as fortune would have it, we have actually been able to… organize… invitations to this ball. And since you two handsome are the only ones in our illustrious round with special abilities, you should perhaps refresh your rusted dance skills." Adeláire blinked briefly and crossed her arms again.

"Arno is hurt. He can’t impossibly...", she started to protest.

"You're supposed to dance with him my dearie, not to challenge him to duel." Verne laughed briefly and LaHache gave that a big grin. Arno simply put his empty cup on the table.

"When will this ball take place?" Verne smiled softly.

"You have three days to get fit again. Do you think you can do that?" Before Arno could answer, Verne shot again. "Really... can do!" Arno closed the mouth, which had already been opened, for a brief moment of reflection. His gaze slid briefly to Adeláire before he lowered it to the table. His left hand groped to his right side, where strong bandages still secured the wound and seam. Finally, he raised his head to Verne.

"It needs to go. No matter how. We've lost enough time because of me." He smiled somewhat mischievously. "And a little dancing in a circle, I will manage somehow. Even if it looks anything but elegant." Verne grinned briefly.

"You could be sent to the ball in rags, and you would still turn the head of all the women in the hall. So do not worry." LaHache laughed at the comment and Verne didn’t seem to leave the grin any more. Adeláire could feel, as once more the blush crawled up her neck again, while Arno smiled over, disarmingly, at his friend.

"Let me guess, you probably have a suitable suit for me, right?"

"But, of course, even quite _à la hauteur de la mode_ _ **[3]**_ my friend." What made Verne laugh and induced Arno to massage his neck mischievously.

"Why is that just giving me greater concerns, than the dancing?"

Adeláire enjoyed the loosened spirits of the four men and watched, like a silent shadow from behind the table, as they mutually threw effronteries after their heads. Even between LaHache and Arno, it seemed as if nothing ever had happened. Should the serious injury really have helped to make this team even to get closer? If it were so, she was grateful, that it all still had a meaning.

When, finally, Arno's face began to grow paler, she shoo the three brothers energetically out of the room. Which resulted in, that Arno then immediately slumping exhausted onto his bed. A faint groan made him once again embrace his right side, which prompted Adeláire to examine the bandages. She crouched down in front of him and carefully felt the seam as he gently caught one of her Hands. Inquiring, she raised her eyes and smirked at his mischievous smile.

"Did you have that dress from… that time, when you were in the cafe?" Adeláire laughed softly and gave a playful expression.

"No, I'm sorry. It somehow fell victim to a strange… accident." What conjured one of these boyish, charming smiles around his mouth angle.

"Pity. It was really… charming."

What, as a reply, elicited her a cheeky smirk and made her green eyes flash.

"Only the dress...?"

She could still feel his reflecting smile in the kiss, when he owed her an answer to this question.

 

 

 

[1] Franz. for „Shut up“

[2] Franz. for „From me as well“

[3] Franz. for „at the height of Fashion“


	10. Imbalance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if Arno has not yet fully recovered from his injury, the infiltration of Bonapartes town house starts.  
> But the mysterious Mademoiselle >E< strikes again.  
> New Plans have to be made. And disputes in the own rows are not helpful at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is another Chapter without Editing/Lectoring by a Native.  
> So, if you find any wrong Grammar or something else, please let me know!  
> Appreciate any help.. :-)

\----------------------------------------- Paris, Tuilerien, July 1799 _\-------_

 

"I feel naked."

Adeláire's voice was no more than a whisper as she crossed at Arno's arm the few steps from the carriage to the entrance of Joséphines and Napoléon's Town hall. A warm hand lay over hers on his arm.

"I am also sorry, that courtly ball clothes for ladies does not provide any opportunity to hide weapons." His voice whispered softly, so as not to be worn on false ears. Adeláire only gave a muttered reply as an acknowledgement for the amused undertone. Enviously, she looked at Arno, who was walking with a tightened attitude, as if he naturally belonged here.

Verne had not exaggerated, the elegantly tailored suit of midnight blue brocade was really up to date. And she had to recklessly acknowledge that Arno simply made a fabulous figure in it. His family background and education made it easy for him to move in these robes as in a second skin. Quite unlike herself. She had to be careful not to step on her skirt hem. She guessed she would not be much better at dancing.

"Don’t wriggle around like that. Otherwise someone will be suspicious", Arno whispered softly in her direction. His hand embraced hers tightly, before he let his left arm drop to the side. The sleeve, which hid its hidden blade, bulged only slightly. Once again, Envy flashed in Adeláire.

Her arms were actually naked, not only because they lacked the blade. But to wear a long-sleeved dress on such a mild June evening would not have been appropriate to morals. Not even that of a ball. So she had opted for a shoulder and arm free variation of dress. The blue of the dress corresponded almost perfectly with Arno's suit and the usual playful frills and loops in silver tones rounded off the elegant picture.

Arno gave the servant at the entrance the invitation which Verne, Francesco, and LaHache had "organized". Only a brief glance was given to the card and the correct crest, before the servant bowed saluting for a moment.

"Une belle soirée Monsieur et Madame", it came from the servant courteously before he gave them the way.

With a certain discomfort between her shoulder blades, Adeláire's fingers clenched briefly in Arnos's Arm. What was again answered, as before, with a soothing gesture. He guided her unerringly in the direction, from which music sounded. For a first overview of the guests a mix among the crowd appeared as the best idea. Unobtrusively Adeláire breathed softly, as she no longer felt so exposed. Gratefully, she accepted a servant's offer and clung to a glass of champagne. Arno did the same, and at the same time let his gaze glide over the crowds.

"Guards at the inputs and outputs, though not in uniform. The servants are not particularly attentive to the guests and take care of their duties. So far no one who could recognize someone from us. However, plenty of political heavyweight. Strange..." Arno murmured his observations just so loud that only Adeláire could perceive them. She sipped her champagne and followed his gaze.

"What do you think that means?" Arno turned around his axis briefly to take a look over the room behind them. A short, painful hiss made him record this as a stupid idea. Adeláire looked at him briefly, which he acknowledged with a soothing smile.

"I’m good. Just didn’t think about it for a moment." Without a word, she frowned briefly before she glanced back at the audience.

Arno was right, there were indeed some political heavyweights among the guests. As far as she could interpret, members of the Council of the 500 and militarily high-ranking decision-makers. What were such characters doing on a ball like this? Joséphine apparently assumed a higher social and political position than it appeared to the outside and which was aware of the commonalty. At least insofar as it related to Adeláire. However, she had never really dealt intensively with the woman on Bonaparte's side. A mistake she might correct.

Arno finally indicates her, that they should go on exploring the house. Adeláire nodded inconspicuously and slowly sauntering, they began to cross the room. When they had just left the room halfway behind, the music played for a dance. And even before they could fade themselves into one of the groups on the edge of the dance floor area, others had decided that Arno and Adeláire were perfect for a dance round.

The clock condensed to an An Dro, and quickly the room cleared into two rows, on the one side the men's, the opposite of those the women. Adeláire sighed softly while Arno smiled encouragingly. She had guessed that she would not come around to dance this evening, but silently hoped. And she had to confess, that Arnos natural elegance, with which he now folded his arms on his back and bowed in her direction, gave the whole something pleasant. Adeláire got everything out of from her inner nonchalantly, which she was able to find and sank in response into a small, elegant curtsey.

The skirts of the ladies rustled in the pleasant sound of the music and like steady waves, the dancing lines moved toward and away from each other. Adeláire could not help but observe her dance partner and to find in his movements everything that made his combat style so unique. The fact, that strong bandages under his suit supported a still restricting wound, couldn’t be recognized in any way. As soon as they were be close in dance, so that she could sank into brown eyes and enjoyed the delicate touch of lips on the back of her hand, the dance drove them already apart again.

Adeláire clearly sensed his watching eyes, as the ladies' row strolling and flirtatiously round-dancing around the subdivided men. Back at Arno, her spine was close to his, before the dance steps led her around him. It didn’t belong to the usual choreography, but she didn’t care at that moment. He held his hands, fully committed to the dance, still clasped in the back. Still, he replied the pressure of her hand in his and his breath went deep as she circled him and snuggled briefly to his chest. His dark eyes sank into hers, and only a whiff his chin tilted down at her.

She smiled sassy and followed the tradition of the dance steps, broke away from him and joined the line of the other ladies. His gaze conveyed quite clearly, which "term of endearment" shot thru his mind at that moment. With an amused, playful smile she went, together with the other ladies, into a light dance curtsey before the music pushed the dance steps.

When the An Dro ended, Arno lends her a hand, pulling her directly from the closing curtsey into his arms, while the dance formation around them began to dissolve. He whiffed his chin again gently against her, that it Adeláire almost frightened, whether he really wanted to kiss her in public. But he just smiled down at her and pinched her painfully into the side.

"You can sometimes be quite a beast...", it whispered softly to her ear. Adeláire stop herself from giving a sound and him the satisfaction.

"Some opportunities should not be left unused," she merely replied softly, laughing. Briefly lascivious fingertips played over his chest, before she coquettishly pushed him away. With a sweet smile, she turned away and took two glasses of champagne from a servant. Arno glanced at her, as if he preferably wanted to put her across his knees at the moment, which made her laugh silently again inwardly.

 

Before they could be involved in a dance again, they mingled with the crowd and began an inconspicuous stroll through the rooms where the guests gathered. At the same time, they were trying to identify which servants were guards, and which are not. Obviously Joséphine had instructed the guards not to disturb the ball with uniforms. Thanks to their two senses, they could nevertheless make up the weapons among the civilian vestments.

Arno finally pointed unobtrusively upwards a staircase. After all, the climbing of facades was definitely denied today, so they had to look for "official" paths through Bonaparte's house. Adeláire nodded gently, glancing around. For the moment there was no servant, whether real or not. But just as they were about to climb the first steps of the staircase, Arno pressed her against the wall and snuggled, with a "schh" at her ear, his cheek against hers. At first amused Adeláire played with, until she spread her senses and noticed the two guards, camouflaged as servants, in Arno's back.

Obviously the distraction maneuver had fulfilled its purpose. The guards simply gave them a brief look, then discreetly continue their way. As a result, Arno broke a little from her and glanced over his shoulder.

"That was almost a little too tight," Adeláire whispered softly. Arno simply nodded.

"We should quickly go on the search. Who knows when they will come back", spoke and strove with reaching steps up the stairs. Adeláire sighed softly, cursed her gown, and took off her skirts, in order to be able to do it rudimentary likewise to him at least.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they stopped briefly at the landing and spread out their senses. Arno closed his eyes and finally turned his head slightly to top right.

"We need to go up another floor. Hide and wait here until I've eliminated the guards." Adeláire frowned briefly. But Arno was right, in her ball dress she couldn’t possibly remain covertly undetected. It was easy for him in his suit.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Arno went into a slight squat, breathed a little painfully, and held his side before he sneaked up the next flight of stairs. Adeláire knew that she didn’t have to remind him of the >do not kill< devise. Dead in Bonaparte's private House would definitely be worth a report that would reach Napoléon. Adeláire looked around searchingly and found an isolated room in which she hid so long. A low whistle finally signaled her, that she could follow Arno.

When she reached the top, he waited in the shadow of a grandfather's clock and broke away from it as she left the last step behind. He went ahead and crossed a lavishly decorated vestibule to get into the sleeping room behind. It seemed as if everything had been prepared for the night. No servant far and wide, who was waiting for the return of her mistress. Should they actually have such outrageous luck and be able to look around in all peace of mind? Adeláire hardly dared to hope.

Arno retarded his steps in the middle of the room and Adeláire felt the tingling in her neck again. Slowly he turned around his axis and explored every corner of the room to see if something obvious appeared anywhere. But apparently luck left them here.

"Well, he has not used the same mechanism as the good Louis. I can’t locate a switch or secret compartment." Arno's voice sounded thoughtful while he looked around with a normal view in the room. Adeláire did the same, and finally her forehead frowned gently.

"Are you sure that this space is used by Bonaparte?" Purposeful she contributed toward a chiseled sideboard with a large mirror above.

"Hm, why do you ask?" Adeláire smiled softly as she pulled up drawers and closed them again.

"Because everything in this room belongs to a lady." She turned to the closet, which was used for clothes. When she opened the doors, her suspicions were confirmed.

"Look, women's attire. Not a single uniform. Apparently, Napoléon and Joséphine tend to keep separate beds." Arno stepped behind her and studied the interior of the wardrobe.

"Well maybe Bonaparte snores. Who knows?" Adeláire laughed softly and closed the doors. Arno turned away and seemed to think.

"Well, if this room is not, then it must be one of the others up here. We have no choice but to look one by one. Let's just hope that none of the guards, which are divided for the lower floors, get strayed up here." Adeláire nodded silently and turned to the sideboard next to the bed. For some reason, she still wanted to search this room before they left him.

From the last drawer, she finally pulled out a book bound in the finest leather. She let her fingertips glide over it and something tugged at her nerves. She turned and turned it, but couldn’t find anything unusual.

"Adeláire? Are you coming?" She turned to him, her gaze still resting on the book.

"Look at this. I don’t know. There's something… odd… about this book." Arno raised the eyebrows briefly before he approached her. He weighed the book in his hand as he received it from her. First slowly, then hastily he scrolled through it.

"This seems to be Joséphine's diary. General descriptions of boring days, in her words. What it’s odd for you? "Adeláire wrapped her arms around her waist and raised her shoulders.

"I don’t know either. It feels kind of strange. Don’t you feel it?" Arno looked at her intensively before again, this time slower, turned back and forth in the book. Finally, she could see that he was using his senses and suddenly breathed deeply, held his breath, and ejected him with a whistle.

“What?”

"Secret code. The kind of cipher I saw last time in the Bastille." Adeláire eyed Arno confused.

"And what does that mean?" Arnos view sought and found hers. Deadly seriousness had entered his brown eyes.

"That our good Joséphine either has special senses or… someone who has access to her diary." Arno looked at the book briefly and finally turned to one of the candlesticks. He held the open pages carefully into the light, and Adeláire saw the characters glimmer. "Light sensitive ink, as in Saint-Denis. What raises the question as to which senses these characters should find." Arno merely muttered to himself, while Adeláire tried to bring the connections into a picture. Thoughtfully, she began to wander up and down the room.

"I do not quite understand what it all means. A diary is highly private. Even if I have to admit, hiding it in the bottom drawer is not exactly the safest way to protect it again access. Who should gain access, and above all, why?" She paused and fixed Arno, who was concentrating on the book. "And if she has our senses, what does that mean for us? Is she an Assassin of which we know nothing?" Arno raised his eyes briefly and an amused smile flicked around his mouth.

"This... ability... is not confined to Assassins Adeláire. I met Templars, especially one, who had these senses as well, and who could use them appropriately." Arno's gaze wandered into the past, before he pulled himself together and returned to the now. "I don’t know what it could mean. But I know that these secret messages show the way here in the house to something... hidden. And if we want to find it today, we should hurry.” Adeláire's head swirled, but she nodded silently to his statements.

"All right then. Call the shots." Arno scrolled through the book and finally turned to one of the pictures in the room. He lifted it a little from the wall, sliding his fingertips over the structure of the wall-covering. A very low clack showed that he had probably found the hidden button. His dark eyes wandered back to Adeláire.

"That was number one of seven." Adeláire straightened her shoulders.

"You're right, we should hurry." What Arno determined to leave the room and continue with the search on the story.

Behind five other paintings and grandfather clocks they found corresponding mechanisms. In the search for the last, they finally entered a bed chamber, which already aroused masculinity. Documents on the desk finally indicated that they were correct. Bonaparte and Joséphine apparently used to have separate sleeping rooms. Seeking Arno looked around and frowned.

"There should be a shield with a crest and swords. Behind him is the last mechanism." Adeláire also looked around searchingly. On the walls were paintings, but no shield. She slowly walked the walls to finally stop at the desk.

"Arno, look." He approached her attentively. "There seems to have been something else hanging on the wall. The outlines of the light shadows don’t match the picture." Arno stepped closer to the wall and slid his fingertips over the wall-covering. Cautiously, he lifted the picture and finally smiled gently.

"Hit it. Very good."

Again a quiet click and a panel snapped in the desk. Adeláire was so surprised at the first moment that she terrified retreated. There was only a single parchment under the panel. When Arno raised it to the light, he growled a low >Merde<. Silently, he handed the parchment to Adeláire, on which in squiggly signature emblazoned merely an >E<.

"How... what... That's impossible."

Arno frowned thoughtfully, trying desperately to form a picture of all this.

"She was faster. If there was something useful here, she took it away. The question is, how did she know we were looking for it? Besides the Council and the five of us, no one knows about the order." In Arno's voice a frustrated growling sounded.

"What about Paton?" Arno shook his head at her question.

"He is very grateful to the Assassins for his salvation. He would never deceive us. He also does not leave the sanctuary." Adeláire rubbed her aching forehead.

"Hm, but maybe he talked to someone who shouldn’t have heard it." Arno sighed softly.

"Anyway, we will not find anything here at all. Let's return the diary and then leave this illustrious event." The end of his sentence etched in her ears, and Adeláire was able to understand his frustration very well, as she felt quite similar.

 

Without incidents and without being caught in the Midnight Quadrille, they managed to get out of the Town hall. They settled call a carriage, which brought them to the Bridge to Île Saint-Louis. During the journey, each one of them hung their own thoughts. Adeláire took Arnos Arm again unasked, as they walked the last steps to the café across the bridge.

"You're an excellent dancer, by the way." She deliberately delayed her steps. The balmy night began to weave her magic, and somehow she could feel that Arno smiled down at her.

"You too." She smiled as well, and stopped in the middle of the bridge. She raised her eyes to him, while they turned to each other.

"Do you sometimes think about it, what if there were no Assassins, Pieces of Eden and all that? If all these complications had nothing to do with you and you could just lead a fine, normal life?"

The intense pain that flinched at her words through his features almost tore her heart, and she unreservedly regretted asking these questions. Gently, he laid a hand on her neck, his features filled with grief and melancholy, only brightened by a gently smile.

"Every day. And at night I dream of a peace which even men like my father, Monsieur de la Serre and Mirabeau were not capable of creating. How could I ever manage it? I once wanted nothing more in my life than with..." A hard swallow. "...Élise… to lead a life in peace between Assassin and Templar. And to raise our children in this knowledge and faith."

Adeláire held his gaze bravely. But she sensed how it was getting hot in her own. His eyes examined her features, as if he were looking for something in them. His hands finally gently enclosed her face and his gaze intensified in hers.

"She will always remain a part of me. Part of what has become my new credo. I can and will never force you to follow that… to follow _me_. But I will gladly welcome you at my side. If you believe that you’re able… and _willing_ to do this..."

Adeláire didn’t know what to say to him. This was not a declaration of love. This was a revelation with what kind of man she had to deal with. Which way had shaped him and how possibly another could look like.

Silently, she finally caught his left hand and replied the gesture he had given her in the hospital just a few days ago. She held his gaze and let gentle lips touch the inside of his left wrist. A gentle smile brightened his features a little before he pulled her into his arms and just shared a quiet moment in the middle of the bridge over the Seine.

 

\--------------------------------

 

They had agreed in advance that Arno and Adeláire would share their findings of the night at a joint breakfast with the others. Thus, the five Assassins found themselves in the normally reserved, and extremely rarely used, room in Café Théâtre and devoted themselves first to coffee and croissants. It was LaHache, who finally brought up the topic of the day.

"Well, then let us not die stupid. What did you find out."

Adeláire sat opposite Arno at the table, next to her Francesco and LaHache, Verne had taken a seat next to Arno. The latter set off his coffee, leaned his elbows on the table, and loosely clasped his hands. His gaze fixed on Adeláire, before he looked at his friends.

"Unfortunately not as much as we had hoped for. Everything important and usable seemed to have been brought to safety before our arrival. And the only thing left behind was a note from our Stranger >E<.”

Adeláire observed the reactions of her brothers. Verne pulled the eyebrows in surprise, before frowning. Francesco leaned back in his chair and seemed to want to continue to listen first. Only LaHache showed no appreciable reaction. Had he not yet fully understood the meaning?

"This means that this >E< isn’t just one step ahead, she also knows that we exist and after which we are on the search?" A meaningful gesture of silence followed Verne's brief summary. Arno merely nodded. "This is bad. Very bad."

"That must mean that someone has betrayed us. Or that this >E< has a damn good network and discovered us in exploring. I don’t like either of that conclusions." Francesco's emotions in his voice reflected the content of his words. And Adeláire could only agree with him.

"We all feel that way Cesco," it came from Arno in such a quiet voice that everyone in the room draw attentive.

"You sound like you've got an idea", it came questioningly from Verne. What prompted Arno to lay his arms on the table and to graze his fingertips over the grain of the wood.

"Hm, a very vague idea. And to be honest, I don’t know if it is worth the venture. Or if we should not just wait until Napoléon is back in France. Perhaps this time the direct way to him is more appropriate than our usual Assassin-Tactics. If this >E< is watching us, she seems to know very well what to look for. So maybe we should do something we would never do otherwise." A short, sad tension swept over Arno's features. "Maybe ... we should think like a Templar."

LaHache sucked in the air before he stopped and breathed out very slowly. His gaze crossed with Arnos. Both were silent. But unsaid swelled between them until Francesco audibly, like a reminder, cleared his throat.

"Actually not a bad idea. But we are not Templars. And I don’t currently know anyone who would even work with us as Élise did back then." Arno's leaning back on the chair and the confounding of his arms in front of his chest ignored Francesco. He now fully concentrated on the problem and passed over emotional entanglements.

"I personally think we should dare a last approach of our own kind before Napoléon returns. Say, find a way into the structures of the new country house. If the information we are looking for is not in the office and not in the town hall, then maybe they are already there. We should leave it untried in no case." There was a general silence on Francesco's reflections. Finally, it was Adeláire who rises to speak.

"What about the uniforms of the guards? Can’t we use them again to gain access? Like in the Town Hall, in and quickly out again?"

"I doubt that this tactic will work again. We do not know how far the network of this >E< reaches and works. But she must have been aware of our infiltration in the Town Hall. Otherwise she wouldn’t have, what we were looking for, put into safety. We need to think of a different approach." Verne's voice sounded as though he were thinking about exactly this problem parallel while he spoke.

LaHache reached across the table for coffee and fished a croissant out of the basket before he also took part.

"What if, when we introduce Adeláire into the household? As a servant or something. Women always need a lot of other women to pamper them." Unexpectedly, there applied once again thoughtful silence following this suggestion.

"Amazing but true, this is not such a bad idea LaHache", it came finally from Francesco. Jean grinned briefly at this statement.

"You are not the only one with intellect in your mind." What makes everyone else gently smirk.

"As a servant, I don’t come anywhere unimpeded. If I'm not being assigned to Joséphine, I might be screw up in the stables or the kitchen. This is a far too big risk and, in the worst case, a waste of time." Adeláire massaged her lower lip and thought further about this approach of an idea.

"Then we have to think about how we can introduce you further up the house hierarchy. If it were the French court the fitting equivalent would be like a court lady." Verne studied Adeláire thoughtfully.

"How about a ward which has lived abroad for a long time, and now that the Revolution in France is slowly coming to an End, wants to learn French customs? Adeláire knows little enough about courtly manners, to not attract attention here. And if Joséphine agrees, she will keep her close to her surroundings." Once again, thoughtful silence fell upon Francesco's suggestion. Arno frowned, while Verne interested eyed Adeláire. LaHache devoted himself to his croissant. He did not care which proposal was made. Main thing, he was allowed to take his ax with him.

"You know what Cesco, that could actually work," Verne finally pondered. "The question remains, how do we get the clean sold?"

Everyone seemed to indulge to their own considerations and tried to find a solution to the problem. It was LaHache again, who gave an idea.

"Can’t Paton fake us something? A letter from some unknown Noblemen. Perhaps an Italian? If Adeláire occasionally let flow in some Italian, it should fit."

Verne sank back in his chair and leaned his right arm over the backrest, while still looking thoughtfully at Adeláire.

"I don’t believe that Paton has such abilities. And I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t like to inaugurate more people outside of our circle. Call me paranoid, but who knows if there are not traitors in our own ranks again." Everyone in the room knew he was alluding to Bellec. No one commented.

"What about de Sade?" Questioning and astonished looks turned to Fran-cesco. He folded his arms in front of his chest before he spoke.

"The Marquis, as far as I know, still belongs to the Nobility. He had a seat in the Convention, although I am not sure that he still holds this. But his stand is sublime enough that he can explain connections with ease. What if he issues Adeláire a kind of Letter of Recommendation and requests Joséphine for teaching?"

Arnos expression was clearly dark, Vernes merely thoughtfully speculated. Before the latter could speak, Arno came before him.

"To negotiate with the Marquis means, to place your hand into the throat of the snake. He will demand a favor. And we all know we don’t like the kind of favour, that we owe to him then. I don’t think that's a good idea." Again, brief silence before Verne spoke.

"Your righteous indignation about the machinations and… preferences… of the Marquis in all due honor Arno, but we can’t afford such Resentments at the moment. Or do you know another Nobleman who could help us in this case?" Arno crossed his arms in front of his chest again and leaned back.

"Besides, we can assume that the Marquis appreciates the advantage, which he has on his side with an owed favor of an assassin, more than the one which could give him shared information with foreign people ears." Verne hesitated short. "At least, there is a relatively high possibility that this is so." Francesco nodded briefly, LaHache contained a reaction, and Adeláire put her entangled hands on the table.

"Well, that means we ask the Marquis for a Letter of Recommendation and I’m collecting all the clothes I can find to infiltrate Joséphine's household", Adeláire summed up. Verne nodded briefly. "Remains the question, how do I get in contact with you, should I have found something?" Before anyone could react, Arno broke his attitude and leaned forward.

"Wait, who said you're going alone?" Adeláire blinked at him confused.

"But, what else? You might look great in a suit, but in a dress? I don’t know..." Arno’s facial expressions darken at her words.

"Don’t be silly. You know exactly, that I didn’t mean something like that, but precisely that, what I said. You will not go there alone. Not without any protection from us." Adeláire felt anger rise in her. Her eyebrows tightened over her green eyes.

"Protection? Please, who the hell decides if I need protection or not? I'm not eight years old and don’t know what I'm doing. I’m a trained Assassin and don’t have to be patronized. You better don’t forget that… my friend…" Her voice sounded clearly edgy.

Slowly Arno rose from his chair and supported his hands on the table. There was anger in his eyes as well, and something else, something deeper going. He fixed her relentlessly.

"It is far from me to be patronize someone. Neither you, nor anyone else in this room. But it remains as it is. You're not doing this alone." Adeláire also rose from her chair and haughty looked down at him.

"Who should force me to do that? You? I don’t know when I should have given you such rights. And dare you to use the development of the last few weeks to tell me now what I can do and what not. If the only way to infiltrate the country house is, that I should go in there alone, then it is so. All that counts is the Mission."

Adeláire had to pull herself together to not shock wrecked to Arnos reaction. Furiously, his fist crashed onto the table and he straightened up, hands tightly clenched.

"No, the Devil! It’s not the mission that counts. Staying alive, that's what's worth more than anything else. And this is put at risk if you go there alone. Why don’t you want that to go into your thick head?”

With an insane, little thought Adeláire registered by the way, how silent the other Assassins were in the room. Verne had crossed his arms in front of his chest and seemed not to want to interfere with the dispute. Francesco was similar. Only LaHache's mimicry had turned darkly from the scene and almost aggressively pulled the last remains of his croissant apart. Adeláre crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixed Arno, who clearly glared at her with rage.

"Probably because my thick head is as stubborn as yours. I’ll execute this mission, for better or worse. There's just way too much at stake." Arno straightened and spread his arms in a desperate gesture.

"You really seem to want to die? How stupid and obstinately can one actually be, to not accept help if it’s necessary?" Enervated he rubbed his forehead. "The Hell, why do I always get involved with such kind of women?"

It was as if an ice bucket of water had poured over her. Adeláire sensed, how it gave her an deeply ugly sting to be compared so obviously with Élise. Anger boiled uncontrollably in her, and she knew, that she would certainly regret her next words.

"Who knows, you seem to have a certain type. But that should give you something to think about, instead of me. If you are only able to see Èlise in all women, it’s no wonder that you are blind to the character traits and essence of all others." Her voice sounded cutting and poisonous. Targeted to hurt and want to force her opponent to distance. She gave Verne a quick glance. "Let me know if you have considered something meaningful." Her glance briefly brushed again to Arno. "I need fresh air now."

She ignored the mixture of emotions in his facial expressions. She could clearly see anger and grief. But there was more. Things she didn’t know yet, which she could only guess. His arms hung almost weakly at his side, before he folded them again in front of his chest. The fast-blazing fire of rage in him, and the just as fast fizzling out, she no longer registered. Her defensively tightened back towards him spoke volumes, and hastily she went out into the streets. She hated it when someone hits her sore points. And she hated it even more, if someone did it, for whom she felt so much.

 


	11. Approximation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two People have to talk after a first fight and argument about, well, dumb things?  
> If two Agendas are complicated like they are for Adeláire and Arno, there will never be an easy way to deal with each other.  
> But as always in Relationships: talking about helps a lot.  
> Specially then you have to work together and a crucial Mission is waiting.

 

\----------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, July 1799 _\-------_

 

 

In the end, Adeláire had retired to the round Gallery in the Café above the training room, and was still pondering with anger in her stomach. Weapons and cloak lay behind her on the table. She had turned the chair in the room to the window with her feet supported on its ledge. The rocking and balancing seemed almost like a reflection of her thoughts. She rolled back and forth, trying to fathom the deeper cause of her rage.

Arno had done nothing wrong. So far, she had already prospered. Nevertheless, this aspect kept popping up as soon as she rethought breakfast. And over and over again, Arno's figure was superimposed in that fresh memory with the old one, which still hurt her sore heart. She felt tears once again shoot into her eyes and surly blinked them away. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her wrist and clenched her hands in fists. She felt the ring, which she always wore under her glove on her left forefinger. Gerard, beloved brother. Why?

Before this chapter could be reopened too intensively, voices rose up from the exercise room. With a strained swallow, Adeláire wiped over her eyes once more, and stopped with her chair rocking. Silently like a gust of wind, she sneaked toward the voices and crouched into the Dark out of reach of Light and Sight.

"Believe me, a little training will do you good. Not only to wake up your rusted muscles, but also to avoid stupidities." Verne's voice; whose words were answered only by a derogatory snort and buzz. Adeláire could only suspect that it was probably Dorian:

"I'm not the one who stomped out of the café, pissed, and now the devil knows doing whatever hell else." Yes, clearly Arno. And an angry one at that.

"Now come back down on earth again, my friend. Adeláire is an adult and she was right to inform you that she knows very well what she is doing. And above all, what she can or not." A brief silence between the two while Adeláire could make out sounds that they were getting rid of their weapons and coats.

Finally, it was Verne's voice again, which urged up to her:  "But just out of curiosity, what exactly do you know about Adeláire? In particular, what did she tell you about her family?"

Adeláire held her breath briefly. Verne wouldn’t dare to tell Arno all that he knew about her? And if this were the case, this would be equivalent to a breach of trust on an almost epic scale. Adeláire sensed how fierce emotions arose in her and she had to force herself not to rush down into the exercise room and to question Verne. She waited, silent and flatly breathing.

"Mhm, honestly not really much. I didn’t want to delve any further than what she told me about her parents' death. It didn’t appeared to me as if it were a particularly pleasant subject for her. How so, considering the manner in which her parents were killed." The characteristic noise of a rapier, which cut through the air, filled the following silence.

"This is not really much, considering what actually happened." Steel touched Steel and shortly thereafter followed a first strike exchange.

"And what exactly does that mean in detail?" Arno's voice sounded calm, concentrated. As if he were going to follow the fight more than the conversation.

"Did she ever tell you about her brother?"

"She has... what...? No..." Arno’s surprised answer was cut short with a dull sound.

Verne had apparently broken Arno's cover and inflicted his opponent a noticeable jostle.  "Fighting and talking at the same time does not seem to be just one of your strengths, my friend."

Arno's reply came a little grumbling at this teasing.  "If you take me out of step with such revelations."

"If life were fair, we would fight fairly. But the world is not fair. This is France."

 A short silence set on these words before Arno's characteristic, sarcastic sharpness returned to his voice.  "What kind of man plagiarizes the words of another to explain himself? I'm used to better things from you, mon ami." Whereupon for a while a violent strike exchange followed, again and again interspersed with audible Riposte, jostling, dodging. Just sounds that a training fight brought with him. It was only in a battle pause that Arno once again took the conversation up.

"So, a brother. What about him?"

Adeláire pushed forward cautiously. Ready to intervene at the right moment, if Verne should now make a wrong decision.

"Well, what happened exactly, she should rather tell you herself, if she wanted to. This topic is more of a concern to her than to deal with such feelings as affection or even… Love... "

Adeláire bit her lower lip and slid flat on the ground to catch a glimpse of the room beneath her. The two had stopped their exercise for the moment and stood at one of the tables with a wine glass in each hand. It was Verne, who spoke further.  "But as far as the latter issues are concerned, you are virtually on a par with each other."

As a result, Arno shortly turned away from him to replenish his glass. He left this statement uncommented.

"What I can tell you about her brother is just the following. He was older than Adeláire. And he also joined the Assassins after the death of their parents. As far as I remember, he was quite talented. And he had the habit of developing an excessive protector instinct, which was usually rather unpleasant for Adeláire."

Arno looked up at Verne, and both of them sipped her wine before Verne set his own aside and slowly returned to the center of the practice room.

"They didn’t have a really simple relationship. But they were each other everything that remained of their family. Perhaps it also tells you a bit, why Adeláire reacts so violently onto >being protected<." Verne swung his rapier and went into position. "She could not really distinguish this need from >being patronized<."

Arno followed him and reflected the posture of his friend. Still it was Verne, who once again took the floor.

"She was forced from the outside to grow up pretty fast. Master Trenet was less her mother, more her mentor. I assume that Adeláire took her as a role model, the embodiment of the strong, free, independent woman." The two Assassins sank, almost aside from their conversation, into a steady dance of battle.

"I can imagine how difficult it is for a young girl in these times to find her way, as an Assassin, as well as a woman. Strong, goal-oriented and also in a way ruthless on the one hand. And on the other hand probably the more feminine needs that make her weak from the Assassin's point of view." Verne interrupted his almost thoughtful speech for an evasive role in order to address Dorian with a smash attack.

"You know, sometimes I think, that we fellows have it easier, belonging to the Assassins. Our contradictions are not quite as strong."

This earned him a short snort from Arno.  "Is that really one of your convictions? I can’t say, that I ever felt it was really easy to belong to the Brotherhood." A brief silence. "Or just not anymore." Steel rattled before Arno continued. "To truly understand the credo and live after it, I feel as it’s a challenge for everyone. Whether you're a man or a woman." An elbow, that didn’t reach its target, before the two opponents drifted apart." We’re making so many sacrifices every day. We lose brothers, sisters, beloved. And for what? For an often imaginative-looking fight against an opponent's side, which has to deal with the same problems, as we ourselves." The two of them stood facing each other and breathed heavily. "Believe me, my friend; this entire insanity is not easy for any of us."

Verne stepped again back to the table with the refreshments and took a towel on the path to wipe the sweat off his face. "Do you see now, what two characters are clashing here?"

Arno followed his friend slowly and did the same. Silence followed the question so that Verne turned to Dorian and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're both stubborn donkeys with each your very own agenda about experiences and foretime." He also put his second hand on Arnos other shoulder to fix him more intensely. "And believe me, I'm still not sure that you two are mutually good for each other. But at the moment we have really more important issues to consider. So clarify your dispute so that we can find a solution to our mission problem."

Adeláire felt everything in her endeavored to get away from this conversation. Deep within her it tore wounds, which she had sworn to never touch again. Her gaze blurred, and the figures beneath her became blurred lines. With a hard swallow, she got up and struggled back into the roof garden to get her things together. The noise that she caused, she didn’t register at all. No more than the exchanged words of the two men.

"What do you think, how long was she up there?" came thoughtfully from Arno.

"Probably the whole time since we entered the room." A silence began to fall between the two men before Verne interrupted Arno's approach.

"Leave her first. Give her a little time." They exchanged glances before Verne smiled softly. "And then you should go after her and talk with her. I think it's time for you both to clarify a few fundamental objects."

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Adeláire's small apartment was sparingly but lovingly furnished. She didn’t need much, and often many days passed in which she was not even here. And since the last time was already some time ago, she first tore open all the windows and let fresh air into the lucid space. Sighing, she peeled out of her weapons and cloak and stowed both before she went into the search for something, with which she could become the master of the dust.

Strangely, the simple activity of apartment cleaning possesses almost something meditative. It calmed her confused thoughts and directed them to straighter, simpler paths. It gradually brought her to the point of thinking that she would have to get rid of her Past, if she didn’t want it to determine her future.

Gerard was dead. Nothing could change that. And it didn’t mean that any other man in her life, who had similar character traits, wanted to control her as much as her brother had always done. She had always been aware and sure that it was out of fraternal love and care. But what that had equally led to resulted in an eternal struggle with each other. He, who felt responsible for her and her survival. She who didn’t feel took serious and perceived.

The pain, as she thought of the hours before his death, still tore her heart as it had done at the time. The last words he had ever heard from her had been full of poison and anger. Nothing could’ve left him in the belief that she felt anything but rejection for him that day. And there were no last words on his part. According to his Assassinbrothers, who had accompanied and brought him back, he was instantly dead.

Adeláire caught herself crouching in the middle of the room and her hands rested powerlessly in her lap. Still and silent, she stared at the wall before she tore herself over and drove the back of her hand over her forehead. The more surprised she was about her working reflexes, when someone knocked on wood and her answer persisted in spreading the bow of the phantom blade.

The figure was more of a dark shadow against the sinking sun. But she could clearly make out the surrendering spread out arms.

"I should’ve officially used the door..."

Adeláire blinked the tears of her memories aside and it almost elicited her a gentle smile. Arno's voice sounded cautiously and deliberately gentle chosen. She let the Phantomblade snap together again and rattled to her feet.

"To surprise me has never been a particularly clever idea." She turned her back on him and tapped dust from the clothes.

"Hm, that sounds familiar to me." His voice still sounded reluctant, waiting. Once again Adeláire smiled.

"I can vividly imagine that."

The silence that arose between them has almost something unpleasant. Adeláire crossed the small room to the table, which she used for eating as well as for all other occasions. Mutely, she searched for two cups, and finally browsed through her supplies for the apple cider, which still had to be somewhere. Still silent, she turned to the door, which led out to the balcony, and studied the still waiting figure.

Arno wore the blue assassin coat, which she knew from before. Somehow it was good at this moment to see him like that. There was something old, familiar about him. But also something lost. His features were in the shadow, but his chin line showed his tension. Still silent, she pointed to the free chair facing her.

He seemed to give himself a jerk, leaving the room behind with a few steps. As he sat down on the chair, he pushed his hood back, then nearly carefully lay down the arms on the table. Adeláire smiled gently and turned to the fireplace in the room. Even though it was a lukewarm June night, it also was the only source of light that was available to her. She held her gaze on her activity when she finally took the floor.  "So, I suppose Verne has advised you to talk to me, am I right?"

Arno seemed to shift his weight on the chair before he replied.  "Right, he did."

Adeláire leaned over the piled-up wood to strike the glimmer of the beginning fire. "Good. I listen." She secretly wondered about the tranquility in her voice. As the silence stretched and the fire gained strength, she straightened and turned her gaze to Arno. He had leaned forward on the chair, and his arms were resting on his knees. He observed her in a way she had not yet noticed from him. His voice sounded cautiously chosen, when he finally started.

"I don’t know whether it is wise, what I am going to do now. But at least it is honest. And no less than what you deserve." He seemed to think before he continued. "Anyone else would probably apologize to you, and try to convince you, that he didn’t mean to patronize you, and that it all was not meant like it sounded." He raised his hand repentantly when Adeláire wanted to respond. "No, be so kind and let me finish."

She remained crouching in front of the fire, put her hands in her lap and closed her mouth. Waiting, and a bit curious, she looked at this man who was trying to find the right words. His dark eyes searched for her green as he continued to speak: "I admit, I wish I could patronize you. Tell you what you should do and what not. And I wish you would share my opinion and granted, that the possibly impending danger is too much for you alone. And yes, I admit, that I let myself be guided too much by my… failure… with Élise in such moments. And if I feel sorry about anything regarding our dispute today, then it’s this." He hesitated briefly. "And that I'm so often not able to separate you in thought from her." His gaze glided over her face. "You both are so incredibly similar in so many ways."

Adeláire swallowed and turned her gaze into the fire. His words had touched her heart and left her now in a sort of hovering state, in which she was not able to say whether she forgave him or not. Softly, almost gently, his voice continued to reach her ear.

"And there are a lot of things in which you both are infinitely dissimilar." A persistent silence was spreading, until she was ready to look him in the eye again. Apart from the peace, she felt his brokenness. His desire to follow her strength and to let her be free. And the profound need to protect her from all possible harm.

"Adeláire… I know you can do that all. You are a strong, wonderful woman who can take care of herself." He let Silence briefly let the words work. "But there are too many graves of brothers and sisters out there who were as well trained as you are. For every death there is a reason, circumstances why it happened. And perhaps it is evidence of pure egoism that I don’t want to be responsible for one of them again. And that, just because I haven’t taken enough care for someone else's life. Can you understand this?"

Adeláire turned her gaze from him back into the fire. It was blazing now and let her curls shimmer red. She tried to win time to clarify her confused thoughts and feelings. In principle, he just reflected what she had been thinking herself all day. She had contributed her share to this dispute, just as he did. How had Verne called it so beautifully? Their two agendas, which they brought into the togetherness. And neither his or hers was necessarily easy to describe. A soft smile finally moved around her mouth.  "That was a rather long and flowery apology… Monsieur Dorian..." She turned her gaze away from the fire and back at him, holding up her smile. She hesitated for her next thought, weighing him off, inspecting her opposite.

The flicker of the fire softened his features as she asked, "Did you allow me a question?"

He smiled gently.  "Of course. If not now, then when?"

She replied his smile before it left her features and feeling the seriousness of her question in her next words.  "Arno... what actually happened back then? With Élise? With you? We talked about so many things when you recovered in the hospital. But I'm still groping in the dark which has struck you such wounds. I would just like to avoid further clashes of this kind in the future and with regard to our mission. And I believe if I could understand..."

She fell silent as he turned away from her and sat back folding his arms in front of his chest. His inner struggle was only too clearly visible. And it was a while before he spoke quietly.  "I loved Élise since I could think. Since she had entered my life with her fiery nature. At that time, in Versailles. On the day my father was murdered, and hers took me into his family. The years of growing up with her were never easy. She had an unspeakable talent of getting us in trouble. Well, I admit, mostly out of them again. But she was never like the other girls I was so familiar with at the time. "

A soft smile played around the angles of his mouth as his eyes wandered into the fire. It seemed to have been good years, in spite of everything. Adeláire made it quietly in a tailoring seat, and waited until he went on.

"From the time of her education we did not see each other often. All the more I wanted to be with her when she was in Versailles. At that time I did not know that it was the event of her initiation in the Templar Order. I only had her in mind and I wanted to hold her in my arms. And I left my promise, to bring a letter to her father, thoughtlessly go." He paused briefly in his story, and the flames of the fire played with the shadows in his features.

"My carelessness cost Monsieur de la Serre life. And Élise made me an accomplice when I finally got it out of the Bastille. "

"And that was the moment you joined the Brotherhood," Adeláire chose her tone deliberately gently and calmly. Arno nodded silently, his eyes fixed on the flames.

"I had met Bellec in the Bastille. At that time I did not know that he had already trained my father. And it did not interest me either. All I pursued was my path of redemption." His smile grew bitter.  "To this day I can’t even say with certainty whether it was not really revenge that drove me. How blindly I drifted through the tracks, which I gradually discovered. Buried me deeper and deeper in the dirt I was stirring up. Until my ways led me back to Élise." Arno was silent and turned his eyes away from the flames to her. All sorrow and pain in his features seemed to tear her heart, before he lowered his eyes and continued to speak.

"At the beginning, I did not realize how much Élise was devastated by hatred and retribution. For me she was as usual: fiery, full of temperament and driven by the search for truth. So I thought at least. We followed some traces together until we finally found and caught Germain." Arno swallowed hard and loosened the entanglement of the arms to grab the mug of cider. Only after a deep train did he continue.

"I let him escape. Fear for Élise's life and thought of wanting to protect her.  She thanked me with anger and rejection. Just like the Council of the Brotherhood. In their eyes I had repeatedly ignored the credo and had only joined the Brotherhood because of wish for revenge." He paused briefly again. "From today's point of view, I'm not even sure if they were even right with it. With her assessment and with the ensuing exile from the Brotherhood." He paused again. And Adeláire felt that this silence would last longer. She gave him the time. Until he finally leaned forward and put his arms on his knees. His head inclined, his gaze fixed on the ground, his voice nearly descended into a whisper.

"Of course, it was Élise, who got me out of Versailles from my boozing, and once more adjusted my head. She reminded me that we still had not dealt with her father's murderer and we had a duty to do. How could I have guessed it would end that way?" Erratic he ran a gloved hand over his face, before continuing. His voice sounded as if he had dig deep down for strength.

"We found Germain in the Temple of his Order. What we had not known until then was the fact that he was in possession of a... Artifact. A magic sword with special... and destructive... abilities." Arno turned his eyes back into the flames and his hands clenched into each other.

"One of these destructive explosions had buried me under debris. Élise was faced with the choice to free me and let Germain escape... or... to face him... alone." Again silence. Adeláire suspected what was missing in the narrative. She hardly dared a breath, nor to touch him. His whole attitude seemed like a strained bowstring.

"She ran after him. And was struck down by a last explosion of this magical sword. She was instantly dead." His voice broke and he hid his eyes behind one hand. It bounded Adeláire's throat, and she fervently regretted to have brought him to tell her all this. She could not find words that seemed to her to be nearly appropriate.

Arno finally lowered his hand from his eyes. They were red, but dry. Presumably he had already shed all the tears that had been available to him a long time ago. He let his head hang over and intertwined his fingers again. Apparently he knew nothing more to say.

Adeláire followed an inner impulse. She loosened her cross-legged sit and pushed herself cautiously to her knees. Delicate as a breath of wind in a summer breeze, she raised her hand to his temple. Like grazing flower petals caressing fingertips went over cheek, chin, to a wild throbbing carotid. Smoothly she rose a little in her squat and leaned towards him. She was not looking for a kiss. And she felt that he knew it. With a profound calm, her eyes met before she closed hers and touched his forehead with hers.

She could feel his right hand finding her neck and his breath, almost relieved, left his chest. She rose and snuggled herself in an innocent gesture, merely giving away proximity, between his knees. As they closed their arms around each other, they found shared rest on the shoulder of each other.

For a long time, they remained in this silent gesture before Adeláire felt his arms loosen a little. She picked up the impulse and let herself slowly sink back into a squat again. Her eyes held quietly until he finally smiled softly.  "I hope you're not angry at me when I now express the desire that I never want to talk about this time again."

Adeláire replied his smile and felt the trace embarrassment.  "No, I'm not at all angry with you. On the contrary, I can understand it very well. I'm sorry to have inflicted these painful memories again. And yet I also thank you for allowing me to participate. I understand a lot better now. "

They exchanged a smile again before Adeláire rose smoothly from the ground and let herself slip into the chair. Again, she filled her cups with the cider and watched him straighten up on his chair. She gave her dry throat a little bit of her drink before she spoke.

"Back to the reason you came here for. I have quite contributed my part to the situation, and as it escalated. And certainly with backgrounds, which are simply not known to you." She smiled gently. "You stumbled into a metaphorical hidden blade. And you even survived it."

Arno replied again her soft smile, leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax a little.  "Then I can be very lucky."

Adeláire smiled again and stole some time thinking, sipping at her Cider. She finally set the mug off and began to twist it between her fingertips.  "You're right. It was not even the regulations you wanted to make to me that hurt me." She didn’t dare to look into his eyes at the moment. It would have confused her words and these were too important for her. "It was the moment you put me in the same corner with Élise." She continued to rotate the mug and watched the liquid in him. "I don’t want, will not and can’t replace her. And I know that a great part of your heart will be lost forever. But at least I would like to get the chance, to be perceived as myself." She breathed deeply, but still didn’t turn her gaze to her counterpart.

"And I think I was not quite fair to you. For how can I ask to be perceived for myself, if I reveal you so little of this self?" She took her hands away from him, as his rights reached for them. "Not… otherwise I don’t get the point here..." She wrapped her arms around her waist while Arno sat back and continued to keep silent.

"I listened to your conversation with Verne in the exercise room. I know one does not listen. But… well..." She rubbed embarrassed over her right upper arm. "I didn’t tell you all the details about the death of my parents and… the death… of my brother." A de novo breath, this time she felt the deep trembling. "My parents were not simply killed by Templars. They took us captive. All four of us. And they tortured my father to elicit information from my Mother about the Brotherhood. This went on until my father fell victim to the torture. And when my mother fell into an iron silence, they wanted to proceed with my brother. That eventually led her to tell them everything they wanted to know. To protect us. Because she loved us." Adeláire forced her right leg, which had begun to jiggle nervously at the story, to rest again. "She died in the name of this love with the lied promise that nothing would happen to us." She reached for the cider and emptied it in one draft before she forced herself to continue.

"My brother and I were saved and trained by the Assassins. Three and a half years separated us from each other. And from the moment Gerard got his blade, he arose as if we were not siblings, but spouses. It led so far that we couldn’t meet for a second without getting into conflict. And he was absolutely against my Assassin-Training. He didn’t want me to put myself in the same dangers as Mother. He was convinced that women are generally too weak for the life of an Assassin. And me, quite specifically." She swallowed hard and blinked away the tears. She was more than grateful that Arno was so quiet.

"On the day of his death, we had such an argument that we threw the ugliest words at each other. The last thing he heard from me was that I wanted him to die." Almost furiously, she wiped the tear from her cheekbones. "I had hated his way of protecting and being patronizing. And he knew that. But I could never have hated him. How could I? He was my brother ... " After a long moment of common silence, she breathed deeply and deliberately released the protective posture of her arms to put them on the table. With a soft smile, she finally raised her eyes to Arno.

"You and him, you two are damn similar in many things. And in at least as many again not." She smiled mischievously. "You see, you are not the only one who is reminded of his past by a counterpart."

Arno was still silent on her speech, as though waiting to see if she had really come to an end. Almost a little unsure, Adeláire rubbed a strand of hair behind her ear and lowered her eyes again into the cider. She didn’t know what to say. And much less was her feeling clear and pure. The words had helped a bit. But she sensed that the confusion was still there. This did not improve when Dorian finally started again to pick up one of her hands and gently hold her like a wounded bird.

"I think we still have a lot to learn about each other,” he said softly. “And we chose the worst possible moment for it." Adeláire raised her eyes and met his, which were somewhat mischievous, as he continued to speak: “The others and I, we were already a good team back then. We know each other well enough to be able to interpret the statements and impulses of the other. You and I, however, must still be working on this status. And we do not have much time for that." Gently his hand pressed hers, so she replied this gesture.

"Maybe we should start by holding, that you do not want to patronize me and I...", she really had to think. And she met his young charming grin.

"... and that you don’t want to impale me with metaphorically hidden blades." This actually made her laugh softly and drove away the dark mind clouds, which had been hanging over her all day long. She let her fingertips glide over the leather of his glove and smiled gently at herself.  "Even if we both are two stubborn pigheads, I feel it as pleasant that we still find a basis for talking. Then maybe not everything is hopeless."

His hand squeezed her until she turned to him again. The brown of his eyes radiated warmth, as did his smile.  "I can’t promise you much. But that you always can talk to me, you can count on it." He grinned briefly and playfully. "But in what way this will turn out, I can give less a guarantee."

Adeláire smirked. If nothing else, she had to give him at least this; honest he was.

Again warmth returned to Arnos smile.  "What do you think about it when we return to the cafe and organize something decent to eat? At least I'm slowly starving."

Adeláire nodded mutely.  "Let me see briefly what is suitable for Joséphine's household. Then I just have to pick it up when it's time to go."

Arno nodded silently, letting her hand go almost a little reluctant, and took his mug of cider instead.  "If it's not enough, we'll probably have to go shopping."  A short grin flashed before he let it disappear behind the mug with a deep cider sip.

Adeláire smiled down at him.  "Believe me, you want to do everything possible, but go shopping clothes with me."

Surprised eyebrows were pulled up.  "Oh, oui?"

“Oui, tout à fait[1]! I am an absolute nag in buying clothes. Under no circumstances would anyone do this." Adeláire's voice chuckled at her own words as she turned to her wardrobe.

The few clothes that she possessed were quickly sorted through, and underwent the observation that there was really little of what would fit her story. Adeláire sighed softly. She hated shopping.

When finally everything was stowed away in a travel chest, she looked around again in her clear room and nodded to herself silently. So you could leave it here for a while. As she turned to the fire to extinguish it, Dorian glanced at her. She hesitated and stopped in the movement. He leaned his back against the wall and laid his right arm loosely on the chair back, his legs crossed over each other. His gaze rested with a gentle, thoughtful smile on her. Inquiring, she merely raised her eyebrows.

Silently, he reached out for her. When her hand found his, his grip was gentle but unambiguously with pulling in his direction. Almost like a shy deer, she followed his direction, until she realized where this should lead. She paused briefly before she softened and slid down to him. His free arm snuggled around her waist, and the guiding of his hand pushed into her neck to continue with leading the way. Her lips almost greedily met as if weeks had passed since the last time. As his exploration descended her neck and her blouse was pulled from her shoulder, she eased a low sigh.

"Not here. The walls are thin as paper and my housekeeper reacts extremely displeasing at male visitors." Her voice had already assumed this characteristic hoarseness. She sensed how intensely she reacted to him. How her breath deepened when his caresses found their way under the fabric.

"Then maybe we should be very... very... quiet,” he whispered very close to her ear. She retaliated by reflecting on his exploration. Almost with a certain kind of satisfaction she registered his reaction to it. Her whisper was scarcely louder than his.

"I do not think we'll get this put into practice." Provocatively, she let her hand slide down on him, down below his belt. With a smirking grin she registered his deeply drawn-in and then stopped breath. She answered the hunger in the passionately divided kiss without reservation.

It took another time for them to separate from each other and look breathing heavily in their eyes.

"We should go."

"Yes, absolutely, we should."

A faint laugh as they sorted themselves and Adeláire finally rose. She still felt the heat in her face as she straightened her blouse and looked around for her coat and arms.

She smiled at Arno's deep determination with which he emptied his cider, before turning to the still open balcony door.  "I think the movement will do us good. Yes, most certainly."

Adeláire stood still smiling beside him and pulled her hood in the forehead.  "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

He did the same, and his hood overshadowed his facial expression, but not his flashing grin.  “You always know precisely what to say.” His grin became a little wider, while they stepped out onto the balcony and Adeláire locked the door.  "Race to the cafe?"

Adeláire returned the grin and set to the first jump from the balcony to the next rooftop first, before he could say any more words.

 

Arno was fast. Damned fast. Especially when you consider that he still had to struggle with his injury. Suddenly, Adeláire was no longer astonished at all the rumors and whispered obeisance in the sanctuary. As an Assassin, Arno was a deadly combination of different talents. Adeláire was able to retain her touch of lead only with the utmost effort.

And even this she lost, when she arrived at a rooftop, from which she saw no way at first, to get to the other side. She was all the more frightened when Arno hovered past her in full spurt. He thrust himself off the edge of the roof and spread his arms wide in a kind of leap-of-faith-Moment to keep his balance. His cloak fluttered wildly in the much too rapid descend, and calmed down only when Arno had found grip on the opposite house. Smoothly he pulled himself onto the holder, which was normally intended for decorative flowers, and turned to Adeláire in a crouching position. At his encouraging waving, she just shook her head silently. That would be impossible for her to do in her entire lifetime.

"Come on. Try it. I know you can do this." His voice sounded cheerful to her, and Adeláire felt the sweat erupt.

Was it pride, ego or madness, which slowly led her to step back a few steps to take a run-up, she did not know. She could only pray silently and hope she did not break her neck.

With a last exhale, she went briefly to her knees and then to the sprint. She hit the roof, but she immediately realized that she had not taken enough strength and drive. She saw Arno's figure approaching and filling her field of vision before she focused on the hold she had to hit. Ice-cold fear made her lose her balance, and she could feel how only one hand find what she was looking for. And even this turned out almost immediately slipping.

With a will hard as steel, her free, wildly rowing wrist was seized and offered her additional support while her body crashed inelegantly and painfully against the house wall. For a moment, it pressed the air out of her lungs before it returned to her, painfully gasping. The suppressed pain curse by Arno she only registered half, very careful not to slip off.

Finally, her feet found grip and groaning she drew herself next to Arno onto the ledge, in order to continue climbing without a trace and only stopped on the safe roof. Like a fish on land, she sank on her back, stared into the night sky and tried to soothe her beating heart by breathing evenly. Arno huddled beside her in a crouch and held his wounded side breathing heavily. His corner of his mouth hovered around a relieved smile.  "That... we'd better practice it one or more times."

Adeláire snorted incredulously.  "You are crazy. That would have almost cost us our lives. And you want to continue practicing that?" She turned her gaze at him and studied his visible features. "How the hell are you doing things like that?"

"What?"

"Well, _that_! These neck breaking jumps over impossible abysses. And then with an acrobatic lightness as if you were bouncing in the garden puddle."

He pushed the hood back and rubbed embarrassedly over his neck.  "I don’t know. It's like with the visions. I could do that somehow always without thinking much of them. As if it were... in my blood."

Adeláire stared and rattled to pick herself up to sit. Again she looked intensely at her opposite.  "Visions? What visions?”

Arno's gaze seemed puzzled before he frowned. "Mhm, I thought you knew that. You also possess that strange gift. And yet you do not know about visions?" He paused for another, patrolling moment, before continuing his searching investigation. "Are you sure you've never seen anything when you've eliminated an important target? Scenes from his life, conversations, important events?"

Adeláire shook her head silently.  "I can feel if someone is friend or foe. Special things that others cannot see; traces. If I am extremely focused on information and conversations, which I should actually not be able to listen to. Like this. But visions? No, never."

Arno looked interested, almost curious. Thoughtfully, he finally pulled his hood back to his forehead and stood silent. Only when he handed her a hand to help her pick up did he speak again.  "Well, this secret we should perhaps save ourselves for another time. Let's see that we finally get something to eat."

Relieved, Adeláire took the offered help, not without approaching him and palpating his side.  "We should have a sister take look at this again."

Arno's hand once again caught hers and a soft smile played around the corners of his mouth.  "I'm fine. Don’t worry."

She returned his smile and tugged around bashfully on the cuffs of his coat.  "Blue is much better for you, by the way, than that gloomy leather."

A short pain twitched his chin line before the smile returned.  "Well, the gloomy cloak, as you call him, is quite ruined. And this was all I had at hand."

Adeláire smirked slightly and pulled him closer at his Jabot to her.  "I like blue." The kiss was as soft as a wing beat, before she nimbly loosened and resumed their racing. "Whoever is first at the café gets the dessert."

The grin and muttered >Bitch< she did not register anymore, but she could imagine it. How much she wished it could be always so free and untroubled. If she had guessed what was in store for them all, perhaps she would have made her steps in another direction.

 

[1] Franz. for „Yes, absolutly“


	12. Joséphine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Assassins didn't find anything really helpful in the Bonaparte premises, they're following Joséphine to her new country estate.  
> And right from the beginning, they're in the middle of something, they can't really catch.  
> There's something goin on around Joséphine. And they all feel the need to stay careful.

\----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 _\-------_

 

Adeláire sat alone in the carriage that the Marquis had lent her for her journey to Joséphine’s country estate, and already she was very uncomfortable. As usual, when she became nervous, she wrapped her arms around her upper body and tried to breathe with closed eyes. This, however, meant that the night before danced with vivid images before her eyes. Pictures of a togetherness almost filled with greedy despair. As if it could be the last time she would share that with Arno, to explore each other.

She could feel her breathing shaking her lungs as her body recalled the delicate touches. Pictures passed her inner eye, in which she relentlessly pushed him back into the pillows and raised self-indulgently above him. Almost her skin was once again burning, and she had to exert all her willpower to get rid of these memories. The fact that she knew Dorian followed behind the carriage on horseback did not make things any better. Too close and yet far too distant he was to her at that moment.

Gently like a feather her fingertips touched again the envelope lying on the seat next to her, which contained the letter of recommendation of the Marquis. He had made no demands for the moment. But everyone involved knew that they would follow. He had sent a letter to Joséphine beforehand, which then signaled her consent to an acquaintance. Amazingly, all this had not taken much more than a week of time. There was hardly any opportunity to whip her wardrobe into shape and inform the council about all the new, if not really persuasive, details.

After some planning, they agreed that Francesco and LaHache should form the outward contact. They rode behind them with half day delay, deliberately choosing absent ways. Next to Arno, Verne accompanied her carriage. They hoped that Joséphine would accept the request of the personal guards and incorporate the two Assassins into the processes of the household. If not…

Adeláire shook her head energetically and straightened her shoulders. She did not want to think about that. Do not think about it, do not provoke it, it would not happen. She sighed softly. She wondered if constantly reminding herself to not think about it would keep her nerves at bay.

She would have gladly liked to exchange a look with Arno, and yes, with Verne as well, at the moment. Simply to pick up a little more security. But the Marquis's carriage did not have a window in the rear. So only she remained to calm herself.

A familiar tingling sensation in her neck made her smile softly, and tempt her to spread out her own senses. She could only guess the sketches of horses and men behind the carriage. Her sense was not strong enough to penetrate walls or objects. But she was able to make out how one of the two gave his horse spurs and steered beside the carriage. She slid on her seat toward the window and pushed the curtain aside. Dorian restrained his horse and she met his examining eyes.

"Is everything all right with you in there?"

She smiled gently.  "Yeah, everything all right." She thought for a moment. "A little nervous. But apart from that everything’s just fine.”

He frowned briefly, which turned over to a smile. He leaned sideways over the neck of his horse and gently pressed her hand, which was resting on the window frame. The movement rhythm of horse and carriage did not really match each other, so that the soothing pressure of his hand was much too short.  “You can do it. We… can do it…”

Adeláire was perhaps glad for the first time in her life that someone was there to protect her. None of them knew exactly why they felt all this supposed danger in their necks. Was it merely because of the fact that >Lady Eve< had succeeded in exposing them? Or was there even more behind it? It certainly caused all five Assassins to be on their guard and get ready for everything.

While Arno fell back again, Adeláire gathered herself again and went through her own thoughts. She called herself Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót, daughter of an impoverished French Nobleman who had sought refuge during the Revolution with the Italian family of his deceased wife. Terminally ill, and dying, he left the wish that his daughter might be sent back to France to find a better place in life.

Francesco had insisted that they would elaborate the story further, in case anyone asked questions. Adeláire and Verne, however, were sure that her improvisational talents would help her at such moments. Though, now in this carriage, Adeláire was no longer so sure. Again she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. How LaHache had so beautifully tinted in the breast of conviction "It will work out". May higher powers give his words truth.

The wheels of the carriage crunched on the kilometer-long driveway of the country castle. Adeláire was careful to not look too provincial and to just stare in wonder out of one of the windows. Attempting to appear ladylike, she lifted one of the curtains just so, hoping to display reasonably majestic facial expressions.

Malmaison could well be described as a typical French country castle. Clear in the floor plan and yet playfully pompous with tower, oriels, and pennants. The large driveway ended in a rondel decorated with a flowery arrangement in the middle including fountains. The happy splatter seemed almost cheerful.

Adeláire waited for the carriage door to open and then seized the offered hand. She felt Dorian's encouraging pressure and gratefully returned it, albeit as brief as her eye contact. Now was not to time to fall out of the role. And in her role Dorian was simply nothing more than an employee of her deceased father. A former soldier, turned off to serve her as a bodyguard. So she nodded majestically and went up the few steps to the waiting servant.

Just that servant bowed visibly too concise and not in the least with a reverential charisma. Apparently he was familiar with the guest's background and seemed to have formed his own, arrogant opinion. Adeláire decided not to react thereon.

"Bienvenue Mademoiselle Poirót. Madame Bonaparte awaits the young lady in the garden. I ask to follow me."  The servant, evidently the butler or caretaker, bowed again in his too concise manner, and snapped two boys to take care of carriage and horses. Arno and Verne set on to follow Adeláire, unsolicitedly, which earned them a silently raised eyebrow from the arrogant servant.

"This Monsieur, are the delegated bodyguards upon which my father and the Marquis have insisted. I hope their presence does not cause any unpleasant circumstances." Adeláire tried to give her voice a snooty nasal tone, unsure if she was doing so well. But obviously it was enough that the servant looked at the aforementioned just as cocky from top to bottom and back, then finally nodded silently: "One will find and prepare quarters for the gentlemen. Until then they may follow us."

"Merci, Monsieur,” Adeláire felt herself exhale with relief. A first hurdle overcome. The question remained whether Joséphine would insist that she was safe here and that her bodyguards could be canceled. These considerations did not in the least relax the knot in Adeláire's stomach. How gladly she would now enjoy the strong, safe and leading arm of Dorian.

Quickly they crossed the premises of the ground floor, admiring the attractive view of graceful, beautiful marble columns, tapestries and exquisite furniture. Joséphine had taste, it had to be left to her without envy. And this taste was reflected not only in the interiors, but also in the beautifully landscaped garden. Already now everything was green and blooming in intoxicating colors. Here, much time had already been invested before the move to realize this beautiful flower sea.

Completely ladylike, Adeláire put up her lace umbrella to protect herself from the sun, which shone from a cloudless sky. She could already feel the sweat running down her spine and causing the corset beneath her dress to be uncomfortably laced. She hated clothes fervently.

With a soft sigh, she followed the servant to a pavilion in which ladies, colorful as birds and flowers, had already gathered. In the midst of them was Joséphine, whose bell-like laugh pearled over the splashing fountain.

Joséphine could not really be described as extraordinary beauty. Her face was a little too chubby, her nose a bit too pointed, her mouth a little too small, her eyebrows too straight for eyes that looked too dark. Her usual brown hair was twirled into artful, small curls and loosely put into a fashionable hairstyle in a new way. She had already picked up on the prevailing fashion trend and exchanged corset and hoop skirt for a soft-flowing mousseline dress with a high waist.

Longingly Adeláire felt a soft sigh in her, linked to the hope that she herself would soon be allowed to get rid of corset and hoopskirt as well. She hoped to be able to conceal this in a reasonable curtsey, followed by a gentle smile and an open look in the direction of Joséphine.

"Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót, announced guest of the Marquis de Sade”, the servant diligently introduced her.

The comment almost wrested a frown from Adeláire. Joséphine returned the smile that had been brought to her with a look on her face that reminded of a lurking viper. Something glinted in the dark eyes and the sweetness around the corners of her mouth felt a touch too poisonous. Something crept up Adeláire's spine, which she did not know how to interpret. Perhaps they had done well to exercise caution?

The vague idea dispersed like clouds in the blazing sunshine as Joséphine finally rose from her place with a beaming smile and outstretched arms, heading for Adeláire.

"My dear, you must be the friend of our eccentric Marquis, whom he announced in the letter. Welcome to Malmaison!"  Joséphine accompanied her words with the usual French kisses on her cheeks, though without touching Adeláire's skin. But close enough to be wrapped in a flowery perfume. The shiver in the spine disappeared a touch. Just enough to keep a smile and reciprocate the gesture made towards her.

"I am really happy to be here, Madame Bonaparte. Also in the name of my beloved, deceased father, who..." A pointing finger wrenched in front of her nose interrupted Adeláires' speech.

"Nana my dear, don’t you dare to address me now all the time with ‘Madame Bonaparte’. It makes me feel like I am one hundred years old." Again, the dreadful smile. "’Joséphine’ is quite enough."

Adelaire, with sheer volition, forced the lump down her throat and nodded again.  "Très bien, Madame... ehm... Joséphine..."

"And who are the two dashing gentlemen who follow you like two menacing shadows, my dear?" Adeláire followed Joséphine's aspirations and turned to Arno and Verne. She observed how the woman, usually on Napoleon’s side, circled the two "dashing gentlemen" and scrutinized them in an unabashed and profuse way. She admired silently how much the two assassins were in control of themselves, and not even a low-pitched muscle betrayed their state of mind. Adeláire dared only briefly to catch Arno's gaze before concentrating on Joséphine again. Had she seen something like a silent warning flashing in his dark eyes?

"My deceased father and the Marquis insisted on bodyguards, which explains the presence of these two gentlemen. I am well aware that further hospitality and accommodation of two more souls would be a great favor on your part, but may not contradict my father's wish."

Uncertain, Adeláire paused in her speech when Joséphine came to stand next to Arno and gently leaned against him. Playing fingertips wandered up his arm, to the uniform ornaments on his chest, and stubbed his chin for a moment before the teasing vanished. Adeláire saw and felt Joséphine's gaze fixate and pierce her. Only with absolute willpower did she manage to keep facial expressions and gestures vacantly. She did not dare to cross her eyes with Dorian’s this time. But she could recognize that his played relaxed attitude dissolved and became cramped, even without standing next to him.

"Handsome men you can never have enough rally around. It would be a shame to send these two home." Again this smile, which made Adeláire shudder.  "Gaston, please find suitable accommodations for the gentlemen and let the Curator decide whether we can integrate them into the household for the time Mademoiselle Poirót spends with us. Two souls more for patrols could prove useful."

The snobbish servant named "Gaston" bowed, this time rather respectfully, nodding to Arno and Verne to follow him and turning on his heel. Both Assassins glanced at Adeláire before turning away and following the servant. The shiver along her spine intensified as the feeling of being alone drifted unbidden. And did not disappear when Joséphine hooked her up with a smile that was warm this time, and was striving towards the garden.

"So my dear, then tell me. How was it in Italy? And have you had the opportunity to overcome the tragic death of your beloved father?"

Adeláire gained some confidence when she was able to regale Joséphine of Italy. She reveled in her own, quite real, childhood memories. Her very own associated heartbreak seemed to contribute to the truthfulness. The melancholy of remembering her childhood seemed to correspond well with the fictitious story of the dead father.

Joséphine was silent during the tales and stroked at the arm of her guest into the back of the Garden. Amazed, Adeláire finally realized that they were alone. Neither servants nor court ladies, let alone guards had followed them. Again, this uneasy feeling crept up her spine and the words of her stories died away.

Before the silence between them became unpleasant, Joséphine released her arm and approached the parapet of one of the many fountains in the garden. Silently she studied the water surface.  "Mademoiselle Poirót, what do you think about this whole revolutionary history?"

Adeláire blinked in confusion for a moment, glad that Joséphine was just turning her back on her. Hastily she wondered what to say to that question while a back part of her brain was wondering why Bonaparte's wife asked her such questions. Thoughtfully, the assassin shifted her weight and sought a reasonably comfortable stance in the delicate slippers that the Parisian fashionista had touted at her.

"I admit,” Adeláire began, “I've never thought much about the pros and cons. All I know is that Paris felt like a powder keg. Back then, a few years ago, when it all started. Which was probably why my father wanted to leave town and country." A glance at Joséphine revealed a brief, silent nod. The attitude of the other, however, did not change in the least.

"I think the changes brought about by the revolution were urgently needed. Otherwise it could never have come this far. Although nobody expected the time of terror. And I think it is now slowly moving in lanes that could do France good." She was silent. So slowly Adeláire got a hunch why Joséphine had asked exactly this question. She carefully considered her next words before choosing them. Her attitude froze like that of a statue.

"If, and this is associated with a great 'if', the right souls get into the right positions of power and take a leadership that is in the spirit of all and a... republic..." Joséphine lifted her chin and finally turned her gaze on her guest after one or two more breaths. Arrogance and pride resonated in the expression of the dark eyes, “Adeláire. Smarter than it might seem at first sight." A chill silence returned before a slight smile made the sun return. 

"You are a smart girl… Adeláire. Smarter than it might seem at first glance." A frosty silence returned before a slight smile made the sun come back.  "I will not ask you any more political questions today. But be aware that politics plays a big role in this house. If you want to learn, then watch, be silent, and listen. If not, well, then I will only teach you courtly manners and release you into the arms of one of the next best gentlemen."

Joséphine's eyes burned dark as she took two steps toward the Assassin, who instantly and painfully missed her Hidden Blade.

"But if you are as wise as I think you are, then you will not be content with such a fate. You will strive for more than just being a skirt in a household. I'm not talking about feminism in the style of a Théroigne de Méricourt." Did the pause for effect have a deeper meaning in the speech of her counterpart, or did Adeláire just imagine so? The mysterious smile that played around Joséphine's mouth remained undecipherable until it dissolved and the warmth flowed back.

"But enough of that for today. You had a long, far way out here and you should first rest and freshen up. Tonight I will give a little soiree, where you will meet some interesting gentlemen." Joséphine took two steps back from her and examined Adeláire's dress. "But not in this ancient monstrosity. Genévieve should pick something out of her wardrobe. We're in the country, but that does not stop us from being _à la hauteur de la mode_."

The end of the speech led to Joséphine again linking her arm with Adeláire’s and went back to the house. In the meantime, she was babbling about the renovation of the Garden and the Estate, almost in a social way, while Adeláire could not shake the surreal feeling of danger.

 

The house, the girls, the people in it, everything felt somehow surreal. Especially when Adeláire found herself in a jumble of fabric in her room, broken up by the happy chatter of three girls from Joséphine's entourage. Among them was the named Genévieve, who put back blonde tresses in her headdress while holding one dress after the other in front of Adeláire: "This gold tone would perfectly highlight the green of your eyes. But it does not bring out that wonderful brown-red gold of your hair at all. What do you girls think? Something delicate mint green and the delicate, filigree gold belt? That should certainly charm the men tonight at the soiree, right?"

Adeláire felt helpless, overwhelmed and out of place. Therefore, she remained silent about all this and allowed per se to be plucked, to remove clothes, to put on clothes, to say yes or to discard. She felt like a big dress-up doll with which the girls had more than just their fun. She was only too glad that none of her Assassinbrothers could enjoy this sight.

"Genévieve, we have to get ready. The bell has already hit the seventh hour. The guests are probably already arriving and we should keep them company,” one of the other girls informed.

Adeláire breathed in furtively. This could only mean that this whole circus soon came to an end.

"You are right, Constanze. And I think we were quite successful in our mission to present a lady at the state-of-the-art." Genévieve smiled openly and warmly at Adeláire. "You will absolutely charm the gentlemen, my love." Whereupon Adeláire blinked in confusion as Genévieve snuggled a seductive kiss to her lips. She froze in surprise as her counterpart, instead of loosening and backing away, snuggled even closer and a playful tongue seemed to challenge her.

"Genévieve, stop that. There is really no time for that!"

Adeláire thanked all the gods, and especially Constanze, for interrupting this intrusive tenderness. Hastily she turned away from Genevieve, whose smug smile on the corners of her mouth turned into a broad grin. The Assassin felt her well-known blush crawl up the nape of her neck, concentrating instead on putting on the long gloves.

Her eyes grazed her travel chest, from which all belongings had been distributed in the room. Once again she was glad that Francesco had realized the idea with the double bottom. Her blade was safe, as were the utensils they had decided to use during their stay. After all, they had to somehow exchange information with each other and with Francesco and LaHache.

With resolutely straightened shoulders, she turned her back on the chaos in her room and headed for the lower level with the girls. Arrived at the last landing of the large flight of stairs, her small group was already expected by Joséphine. The strong, dark green of her dress complemented and even corresponded with the color of Adeláires dress. An amused smile slid across the corner of Bonaparte's wife as her gaze scrutiny swept up and down Adeláire. She tugged gently on one of the sleeves and nodded approvingly, “Better, much better.”

Another smiling look didn’t appeal to Adeláire, and instead allowed her gaze to wander down the stairs towards two pairs of eyes, one dark, the other gray. Adeláire followed this gaze and it flashed her torridly as she met a glance Dorian's, which she had never seen on him before. He and Verne were clad in uniforms of the house guard and evidently delegated to surveying the hall. She could almost physically feel Arno regaining control, stiffening his stance, and forcing himself to smooth his features. The burning in her chest stayed persistent.

"Well, seems someone is already an expert in stealing hearts." Joséphine's amused tone stabbed like a blade into sore flesh, so much so that Adeláire cleared her throat, embarrassed, and finally broke eye contact with Dorian.

"Well, it’s probably nothing more than a peasant boy’s crush. The journey was long and I was the only woman. So…"

There it was again, that viper-like smile.  "Now, now… do not fan the flames, Adeláire. You are a beautiful young woman in a very pretty dress that flatters you in a really outstanding way. His reaction only shows me that my girls did everything right and that tonight you will turn many heads. We decide everything else when the time is right."

Once again Joséphine took her arm and led her down the stairs. Adeláire’s eyes moved back and forth between Verne and Arno. The former only briefly pulled a corner of his mouth into a hint of a smile, the gray of his eyes shimmering warm. The latter sought to maintain his uninvolved facial expressions, which caused embarrassing redness in Adeláire. Just before her and Joséphine's way broke in front of the two men, a dark gaze hit a green one and left a woman breathless blazing in a fraction of a second. As short as the contact lasted, so intensely did she pursue the emotion. They both could only hope that the other girls hadn’t paid too much attention to the exchange. The soft laugh in her back, however, immediately nullified Adeláire's hopes. At last she understood the usefulness of a fan.

 

The Soirée was already in motion and greeted her hostess with muted applause. Joséphine did not even bother to let Adeláire go and wandered with her at her arm, nodding graciously to the guests, across the room. She only stopped her journey by a man who looked more like a cleric than a socially interested Galan.

"Emmanuel, how nice that you came. I hope the trip out here was not too exhausting?"  Joséphine gave the clerical-looking gentleman a gracious hand for a kiss, fanning coquettishly herself air with her fan. The gesture of "Emmanuel" was also rather wooden. Nevertheless, Joséphine ignored this circumstance with nonchalant elegance.

"Well, the journey back from Berlin to Paris was a lot more arduous."

Joséphine merely smiled gracefully and turned to Adeláire.  "My dear, may I introduce Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès, current Director of the Republic of France, and hopefully a good friend of the Bonaparte family.”

Adeláire had to stop herself from drawing sharply air into her lungs. Since she had used ways and means to fathom the plans of this man and now he was presented to her as on a silver platter. Even if she believed in coincidences, it would be difficult for anyone to call this one. She pulled herself together, reached her hand to Sieyès for a kiss and gently bent in response to his wooden gallant gesture.

"My dear Emmanuel, this is Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót, currently my ward and a good friend of our ever-popular and quirky Marquis de Sade."

"Did I hear my name ringing with the bell-like voice of our hostess?"

Adeláire immediately recognized that well-known horror running down her spine as the honey-oily voice nestled in her ear. Only reluctantly she handed her hand to the Marquis, whom he ignored and breathed kisses on her cheeks in the French manner. He certainly did not guard the distance Joséphine had kept. His smug smile and wink raised helpless rage in the Assassin. Oh yes, she knew very well that he was taking advantage of this and that he enjoyed it, knowing that she could not resist him. She tried to console herself with the thought that this might be enough for him as a "payment" for his favor.

"Donatien, how nice that you did it. That makes the arrival of our dear guest much more pleasant for you, doesn’t it my love? "

Adeláire could sense her smile was cramped. Nevertheless, she left her hand in those of the Marquis, who enjoyed the circumstances more than just a bit. She decided to keep quiet. She could not really guarantee that an answer would not reveal more poison than she could have explained.

"Your dear guest is certainly quite exhausted from the long journey and completely overwhelmed by all the new impressions,” the Marquis mused, “Surely you have hardly given her time to breathe, my dear Madame Bonaparte, non?"

Joséphine playfully punished the Marquis’ statement by indignantly, albeit lightly, hitting him in the chest with her fan.  "Of course we have. Even if the time was pretty tight to bring her up to date. But at least Emmanuel thinks our appearance is pleasing to the eye, isn’t it, my dear?"

Adeláire registered the twinkling in the eyes of the Marquis. He knew exactly which company they were in and also remembered the visit of the Assassin in his Mansion. He and she exchanged glances, intense, sustained, while Joséphine continued the conversation with Emmanuel.

"My dear Sieyès, what about the progress of the restructuring in the Directorate? Are the plans going as desired?"

Adeláire's eyes twitched between the Marquis and Sieyès. Did de Sade really dare to ask such a risky question? And did he really expect an honest answer to this rash attack? Out of the corner of her eye, the assassin noted how quiet   
Joséphine had become and how her scrutinizing gaze brushed against an embarrassingly harrumphing Sieyès.

"Well, my dear Marquis de Sade, I do not know exactly what plans you are referring to. But right now everything is developing in a very pleasant direction. And if the support is on the way, as planned, then it will probably soon come to an even more positive turn."

As scarce as his words were chosen, they carried so much content. Adeláire caught herself holding her breath for a second and then had let to flow him again controlled. The brief exchange of views and the silent nod by Joséphine had not escaped her. Nor the Marquis. The latter bowed tight but elegant and smiled his smug smile.

"It may be granted to you and us then that everything may proceed in the successful sense." Again a smug smile before the Marquis bowed again, this time in front of all present. "But then Ladies, Monsieur Sieyès, please excuse me. The buffet and the excellent wine now definitely need my attention."

"That's an excellent idea, dear Marquis. Adeláire, don’t you want to accompany him", Joséphine picked up the statement, dismissing the Assassin's arm. The latter merely nodded silently, bent in front of Sieyés and allowed the Marquis to take over her arm from Joséphine, as it were.

"We have to send this information to the council", she hissed in her companion’s ear during the pursuit to the buffet. He nodded graciously to those present.

"Which information? What did we learn that you did not already know?”” came back quietly from him.

"He plans something. And he plans it with Joséphine. The council must know that and be on guard." A smiling look met her before the Marquis let his gaze wander again.

"Again the question, what's new about what it would be worth risking the current mission, for which so many have brought so many victims. And will bring..."

This destroyed her hope like a snowstorm, that he would be content with her being at his mercy in return.  "Do not ask me why, call it female intuition, but Joséphine is dangerous. And thus also Bonaparte. Everything here is related in some way. And every little piece of information can better prepare the council for eventualities."

His hand patted hers on his arm.  "You really put tremendous trust in your remaining Council." He stopped at the buffet and pretended to think about what he wanted to be presented. Again Adeláire felt this helpless rage. Her eyes slid back to Joséphine and Sieyès, who seemed engrossed in conversation. She would have loved to use her senses to catch something. But the voices around her were too intense.

"It is and will remain the Council of...", as a precaution she bit back the rest, she replied silently and still helplessly the piercing look of the Marquis.

"There are two men and one woman who are unaware of all this and who are to decide from afar what your society wants to do. I consider this an exceedingly dubious honor to put these three people above everything else and, in anticipatory duty of guilt, to send every single piece of information along regardless of any losses. Finally, set up your own clever brain. For my sake, even the one of your bedfellow. But take an example from him and act, react here on-site. Decide what to do and act accordingly. To take responsibility means to grow up."

She felt her eyes burning and stubbornly holding his. Only when the mocking smile drove the seriousness out of his face did she turn away from him and stride through the Soiree to the exit. She did not even register the glances of her Assassinbrothers, who followed her worriedly, out into the garden. Adeláire had the feeling of bursting and the urgent need for fresh air.

Her steps stopped at one of the wells, but her anger did it not stop. If that had been the case, it might have kept her from kicking against the stone edge, and only afterwards to be reminded that she was by no means wearing her boots, but merely courtly shoes. With a more than un-ladylike, filthy curse, she sank down onto the balustrade, took off her shoe, and massaged her toes.

"If you keep this up, you will not be able to dance today."

The whisper from the dark shadows was just loud enough that it could reach her ears. Her "assassin gene" jumped in, making sure she did not reveal his position, but pretended that this voice from the dark didn’t exist at all.

"Who says that I want to dance at all?" came out surlier than she actually intended.  Her comment was only met with deep silence, which elicited a soft sigh from her.

"Did you see who the guest is,” she responded, turning to the fountain's water to camouflage her lip movements in the shadows. Fingertips stroked the surface of the water.

"Sieyès? Yes I have. And he is not the only one, politically highly active guest tonight. Joséphine seems to want to push her husband's ambitious plans forward in his absence." Another silence out of the shadows. "All the more important that you are in there... and not... out here..."

Adeláire felt redness rise her neck again. This happened far too often today. And yet she could not help giving Arno's reprimand credence. She sighed softly before she rose and shook out her wet hands. She put the coolness in the back of her neck for a moment and breathed in due to the relief.

"By the way, you look absolutely stunning tonight ..."

The blush that hit her cheeks within a fraction of a second she strangely enjoyed, and it conjured a soft smile around the corner of her mouth. Sometimes one would not think she was endowed with the deadly skills of an Assassin. Especially not when the words of a man made her blush like that. Still she dared not let her eyes scour the shadows. For one thing, she knew that Arno was masterful in using just those for himself. For another, no one could guess which eyes might be on her.

"I can do it... somehow..."

The shadows owed her an answer. But she seemed to feel the comforting feeling of an encouraging, warm smile on her. Her shoulders and stature were streamlined and ready as she turned back to the mansion, heading back into the hustle and bustle of the society.

 

Arriving in just that bustle again, Adeláire strove for the spot in the room where she had last met with Sieyés. He was still in conversation with Joséphine. And someone new had joined the group.

"Adeláire, there you are again. Welcome my brother-in-law, Lucien Bonaparte, President of the Council of the 500. Lucien, this is our dear guest from Italy, Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót. "

Adeláire creased slightly in front of the young man named Lucien Bonaparte. The resemblance to his brother was undeniable. He even wore hair and beard in the same style.

"Essere noi benvenuto Signorina", Lucien said in the cleanest Italian. Adeláire was careful not to glance sideways at Joséphine and to see her assumption to be examined confirmed.

“Grazie per questa calorosa accoglienza. E'un piacere straordinario per conoscere me.”

“Il piacere è tutto mio Signorina.”

With a grinning smile and holding her gaze, he initiated a decent hand kiss. If he suspected a fake game on her part, Adeláire could only hope that she had been able to dissuade him for the time being off her track. Fully ladylike, she unfolded her fan and enjoyed the soft breeze he caused.

"Don’t you think Italian sounds just as elegant in the ear as French?" Joséphine's voice sounded as if she wanted to recapture the attention.

"Unfortunately, I was not able to follow the content of the exchange, but I admit that it sounded pleasant in any case." Sieyés sipped his wine. Adeláire could not see beyond the facade of this man. His facial expressions could not be interpreted and it was not clear whether he was bored to death or just waiting for an opportunity to go into detail with Joséphine.

Her reflections were interrupted again by Joséphine.  "Lucien my dear, how about, would you invite our dear guest to dance? I think the other gentlemen don’t really dare."

The smile and the pattern with which she was considered by Lucien did not appeal to Adeláire in the least. Nevertheless, she made a good face for the bad game, grabbed the offered arm and let herself be escorted to the dance floor. Not without her gaze gliding over the attendees. Arno was right: except for Sieyés, and now Lucien, she recognized other members of the council of the 500. Similarly, as in the town hall, this Soiree seemed to contain a deeper background, as seen at first glance. It strangely gave her a sense of security as her scrutinizing gaze met a familiar, dark pair of eyes. Unobtrusively, she gave him a smile and disguised it, as one addressed to Lucien, who just bowed in courtly dance manner before her.

"Am I sorting your accent right into the Veneto, Mademoiselle?" His tone was light, chatty. Adeláire did not trust that for a second.

"Almost, Valle d'Aosta." Adeláire gave him a catlike smile as they began to turn in the dance.

"The accent you seem to hear comes probably from my bilingual upbringing. After all, one could almost think that the borders between Italy and France are more or less fluid in our valley." Lucien’s smile was soft and cold, but so was equally Adeláire’s. "Which is by no means the case."

Lucien followed the round dance of the music and their paths parted briefly, before the tact brought them together again. Something lurking had entered his features. He still sought to camouflage this with a smile, more or less successfully.  "May I infer from these words that it is probably rather a coincidence that you have just strived for a place in the household with my sister-in-law and my brother?"

Adeláire felt a shiver race down her spine and she silently thanked the dance that was driving them apart again. But it did not change the uncomfortable feeling as she returned to Lucien's arm.

"Or are all ladies from Vallée d'Aoste as politically interested as you?" Lucien stopped the dance by holding her wrist tightly and pulling her close to him. She could smell his scented water and something sparkling edged into the dark gaze. Adeláire deliberately faded the perception of the room, but could clearly feel the familiar tingling sensation on her neck when Dorian's gift caught her.

"You ask really bizarre questions, Monsieur Bonaparte. Even more, where I just arrived today and do not even really know where my journey should bring me. Such attention honors me, but may well be too much of an honor for a simple girl who is merely looking for a new place in this world. My father passed away recently and his last wishes put my well-being in the hands of the Marquis de Sade. I guess the household decision was an agreement between him and my father. Perhaps it would be more promising to ask the Marquis about the exact circumstances."

As boyish and dandy-like Lucien might seem, his grip on her wrist was unyielding and steel-hard. His gaze punctured the soft features of lying. And Adeláire could see that he was not buying her words. Nevertheless, he dismissed her from her compulsion and gallantly gave her an arm again.

"You must be hungry, Mademoiselle. We should find out what the buffet has to offer us." With which he led her unasked and insignificant in just that direction and left her there with a curt bow.

Frowning, Adeláire's eyes followed Lucien, who headed for Joséphine and Sieyés. A quick exchange and all three seemed to agree to retire. Cursing softly, Adeláire turned off the plate that had been handed to her and started to follow the three of them.

Adeláire had to resist a loud curse as she ran straight into Genevieve's arms:  "Have you been left all alone, my love? Well, that's not possible – not when you are still completely new, helpless and clumsy here among us."

Adeláire threw a critical sideways glance at the blonde, who took her arm in the almost familiar manner. But her open, bright smile did not tell if she meant her words genuine or demeaning.

Adeláire let it go and scanned with her eyes those present until she found the seeking dark pair of eyes. She pointed briefly by turning the line of sight into the direction, in which Joséphine had disappeared with the two gentlemen. Returning to Dorian, neither of them dared to put down a larger sign of understanding. The Assassin could only hope that her Brothers probed the room as attentively, now she had more or less succeeded.

Adeláire's gaze briefly touched Genévieve and something like icy panic flashed through her as she felt a similar, viper-like smile on her as before only on Joséphine. Slowly she felt the sensation of a rope, which was already beginning to tighten around her throat. What the hell did they just get involved in? Cold sweat made her shiver for a moment, before the uneasy feeling was stifled by a chattering swarm of girls, who included the two new arrivals in their rounds. For the rest of the evening Adeláire sought to avoid any further striking collision with those present. If this all already clenched in the first day of her arrival, how would the remaining stay go?

 

 


	13. Passion & Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time on Joséphines Estate seems to be boring. If there weren't some new handsome guys girls could have fun with.  
> But nothing always is as it appears on first sight.  
> Even, maybe specially, not for Assassin's in a undercover mission.

\----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 _\-------_

 

Adeláire was bored to death. Joséphine had not engaged with her since the soiree, leaving it to her "girls" to take care of the newcomer. There was a great coming and going of messengers, sometimes with gifts, sometimes only with letters. But it was impossible to catch even a small shred of it before it got right into Joséphine's hands. Slowly Adeláire wondered if her plan would ever be crowned with success. Two weeks had passed and so far she, Arno and Verne had not dared to exchange ideas with each other. So she did not even begin to suspect if her brothers might be more successful in their mission.

Lethargic, she sighed and enjoyed the cool wetness of the fountain on her bare feet. The August sun burned hot from a cloudless sky and the girls had made themselves comfortable in the garden under an extra stretched pavilion. Tired, they fanned and just seemed to wait for the evening to bring cooler breezes.

"We should… do… something,” one of the girls moaned lazily.

"But what? It's way too hot for... well... just everything... " another grumbled back.

With a sudden jerk, Genevieve took the initiative again and struck her fan in the delicate palm of her hand.  "No need to let ourselves hang down, my dears. I have an idea and I expect full support in its execution. Accepted?"

Adeláire would have frowned in confusion if she did not feel so tired.  "Are you going to tell us exactly to what we are agreeing?"

Genevieve smiled at her mischievously before answering.  "Then it's neither a surprise nor funny. You have to say ‘yes’ without knowing what it's about."

Adeláire returned the mischievous smile.  "Why do I have the feeling that you will be the only one of us who will enjoy the idea?" A silence resounded like between two circulating wildcats until Adeláire gave in. "Alright, I will play your game with you. Accepted."

Genévieve beamed.  "Ha!  Great." She rose vigorously and smiled down on the other girls. "Of all the others, I just presuppose an agreement as given. I'll be right back." She disappeared toward the estate.

"Oh, this can only end badly," Constanze mumbled furtively.

In fact, it did not take not long until Genevieve returned. Alone. With her mischievous smile. Adeláire merely raised a questioning eyebrow as she tried to relieve her sweaty neck with a palm wet with water from the fountain.

"Let yourself be surprised," was the only thing Genevieve stated, before settling back in her midst.

Adeláire had almost forgotten the burst of energy when Genévieve spoke again, "You know what you dear, we should not hang here like dead flies in a spider web. We are, after all, court-ladies to the woman at Bonaparte's side. We have a reputation to lose. Let's find some movement."

A protesting moan arose in the ranks of the girls, which Adeláire did not even feel obliged to join.

"Yes, yes, as I said. We should practice our dances. At the last soiree I have to recognize one or the other fatal flaws in the step sequences. Yeah, no, Constanze, you too."

The chatter died away as crunching footsteps sounded on the gravel path. Adeláire sat with her back to the obvious newcomers and therefore registered only amazement at the widespread of mischievous smile.

"We were told that the ladies wished our presence?"

Formal in tone with a clear trace of wonder, the familiar voice penetrated Adeláire’s ear. It sent a shiver down her spine that she could not really interpret what it was. With new energy, she straightened up, pulled her half-bared legs under her skirt and suddenly realized just how thin the damn mousseline was.

"Oh yes, that's what we wish for, gentlemen.” The reply came sweetly charming from Genevieve, who, grinning, watched Adeláire. As the blonde rose, Adeláire fumbled at her neckline with the sudden question of why she even bothered. If anyone knew her in her birthday suit, it was surely Dorian.

"Incidentally, we noticed that we don’t even know the names of you two men. Since you have accompanied our delightful Adeláire here, we had never again the opportunity to introduce each other."

Adeláire turned her eyes towards her brothers and took a modest, demure position. How she would like to have something to throw against Verne’s head at that very moment, literally; she could make out his amused flash in the eyes all too clearly. Arno’s attitude was different. He devoted his frowning attention to the blonde lady, who was examining and rounding him like a prize-bull at an auction. This elicited a furtive and amused grin from Adeláire.

The girls got up and were unabashedly engaged in the patterning of the two male beings.

"They both seem to have lost their speech,” Genévieve laughed, causing Arno to clear his throat. Was Adeláire wrong or did he consciously avoid meeting her gaze?

"Roussel, Victor Roussel,” Arno said dryly. They deliberately used his middle name as camouflage. This minimized the risk that he would not respond to a call in the heat of the battle because the alias was too foreign to him.

"So, Victor... a winner... mhmm..." Genévieve purred into his ear as she snuggled up against him provocatively.

"And our handsome blond here is Nicolá, as he has just revealed to Constanze,” informed one of the girls, who was just busy with Verne’s trained back. Adeláire gave another grin as Verne slowly relaxed and as unabashedly as the ladies began to find favor with this strange game.

Genévieve turned with an exquisitely-played pout to Adeláire, who was the only one who had not yet risen from her place.  "Too bad that the good Victor comes along so stiff. I believe my dear Adeláire, you will have to lighten him up a bit."

This immediately caused the Assassin to feel her cheeks flare up.  "Ehm, what... why... why me?"

Genévieve’s mischievous smile was once again mixed something viper-like.  "Well, because we watched him watching you. And we are all convinced that he has fallen in love with you on the long journey you have brought behind you together. As a result, he will not relax in our presence unless you give him permission to do so." A deliberately chosen pause of effect. "Or you leave us alone with him." Genevieve watched Adelaire with a pervasive pattern as if seemingly observing what reaction she could elicit from Adeláire before she continuing, her voice as sly and oily as ever, "No, that would be too cruel, isn’t that true, my love?"

Adeláire did not have to invent her next reaction in the least, or even pretend to play. Her eyes changed from the somber-tense Arno to Genévieve and back.  "I have to admit, I have absolutely no idea how I should now answer to all that, what would fit the best."

This prompted Genévieve to clap her hands enthusiastically.  "Great, I managed to completely disconcert her." A new, playful smile gave the following words something soft, "And how you deal with such provocations gallantly ladylike, we’ll teach you that too." Again, another clap into her hand. "But now, up. Get up. The nice young man can’t stand around here so stiff forever."

Genévieve stepped up to Adeláire and pulled her vehemently to her feet and over to Arno, who now had his hands crossed behind his back and apparently was also completely at a loss as to how he should deal with the situation. Why did Verne behave so discretely? A sidelong glance revealed that he seemed to be much less resigned and was already involved in advances with one of the girls.

Adeláire felt like a schoolgirl when Genévieve pushed her so close to Arno that his chest almost touched hers as they breathed. Helpless, she glanced at Genevieve as she appeared next to them.

The blonde clasped her palms in front of her lips and her eyes sparkled with amusement.  "Come on, dare you. A kiss after all these weeks of adoring you'll probably be giving him a treat, right? "

Adeláire could feel Arno hold his breath for a moment before exhaling in a controlled manner. She herself clasped a hand around her fan. Not knowing what Genevieve wanted to achieve with this game or for what reason caused a feeling to creep up in Adeláire’s neck that made her think this would not end well.  The turned look in Arno's eyes told her that he didn’t fare much differently.

They hesitated on both sides, before both literally shrugged their shoulders in silent communication and surrendered to their fate. And despite the fact that the kiss was swift, wooden and almost innocent, it ignited something deep in Adeláire and apparently initiated that rumbling of great yearning. Furtively, she stepped back from Arno immediately afterwards and could not prevent her fingertips from briefly caressing her lips that had just been touching him. The fact that his eyes followed her movements did not make the whole thing any easier.

"What's that been for a kiss? That’s a kiss from 5-year-olds who find the other sex still somehow funny. Ladies, what do you say? Do we want to see a real kiss from the two?"

And of course, this reinsurance would not have been needed. What other than approval could be expected on such a question?

"So you two beauties, you heard it. The majority has decided." One could clearly recognize the fun in Genevieve's voice. Adeláire declared herself beaten, smiled gently up at Arno and this time visibly lifted her shoulders.

Arno studied her briefly, intensely. And then seemed to make a decision. He released his arms behind his back and turned his gaze briefly to Genévieve. Whatever this transported, it made her blush and shake gently until he dismissed her and again devoted himself to Adeláire.

It passed through her hot as she perceived the predatory on him. A warning flashed in her eyes, to not reveal more to the attendees than could be good for them as Assassins. A corner of his mouth rose mockingly, before he raised his hand and placed it surprisingly gently around her throat. His eyes held her as iron as they had at her first, or rather second, being together. His thumb stroked her chin and directed it to the side. His free hand rose to her carotid artery and playful fingertips moved from there over her collarbone to her heavily breathing thorax. He spared the too tell-tale zones and finally let the wandering hand sink. Only five fingers at her throat, he started and directed her backwards until her shoulder blades touched one of the pillars of the pavilion. Only now his free hand slid into her waist and pulled her close with a jerk that gave Adeláire a small gasp. She would have loved to see the crowd present, but Dorian's captivating gaze didn’t allow her a breath of freedom.

When he finally lowered his eyes and head to explore with soft lips the wildly beating pulse on a slender neck, Adeláire did not care what opinion the rest of the world displayed. A soft sigh penetrated Dorian's ear while slender, gently trembling fingers strayed into his hair resting on his neck. Arno had to be crazy to take such an immense risk. She felt the request as lips disappeared and a gentle movement goes through the hand at her throat. Swishing green hit intense burning brown before greedy lips finally found their destination.

Was that really a soft murmur that flowed through the women's row? Adeláire did not care as much as before. The alarm sirens in her head shrilled and at the same time her treacherous body enjoyed what Dorian was risking. With her last strength, she tried not to be too familiar with him and did not have the slightest idea if she even succeeded in doing so.

When he finally released her, breathing heavily, his hand buried itself in her curls and turned her head so that softly whispering lips could find her ear undetected by the watching audience.  "We need to talk. The three of us. This evening. Stable."

Now she understood why Arno had finally played so complacently. It had finally given them an opportunity to exchange ideas for a meeting.

"Was such an intense performance really necessary,” she whispered back softly and could not resist to place a small but quite noticeable bite in his neck. The smile and the sparkle in his eyes could almost have been described as arrogant if she did not like that boyish way about him. She knew it flashed in her eyes, that he was going to pay her for it.

"Uhh, I want such a kiss too."

Immediately Adeláire and Arno felt buzzing from the ladies and were strongly urged apart. Only Genévieve and Constanze stood a little offside and watched the whole scene intensively. Or rather, watched Adeláire intensely. A cold shiver ran down her spine again. How much had they revealed?

The sudden clearing of a throat interrupted the festivities.  "Ladies, unfortunately I have to interrupt the certainly pleasant activities. Madame Bonaparte wishes the ladies’ presence in the blue salon. "

A low murmur and moan began. On the one hand because of the end of the amusement, on the other hand because it was much less airy and pleasant in the house than in the garden. Gaston nodded graciously and threw devastating glances at the other two gentlemen.  "I assume the gentlemen know their working schedule and do not hesitate to resume it immediately."

"No, they certainly do not line,” Verne muttered softly, who parted with a deep sigh from one of the girls.

Arno gave Adeláire one last look before turning to follow Verne. Struggling, she tore her gaze from his back and tried to soften her inner blazing heat with her fan. Unsuccessful. Had she already lost her eternal fight against love? The new horror in her neck was all too explainable, and gratefully she entered the shadows of the house, wishing to leave behind the events of the summer garden.

 

Joséphine had nothing more to tell them except that she would have to leave Malmaison for a few days. She chose Genévieve and Constanze to escort her and gave the other ladies some proper tasks. For a moment Adeláire sighed inwardly, enervated. In the next, however, she recognized the opportunities that could result from Joséphine's absence. Maybe this was finally the time to get results. Convenient that she, Arno, and Verne had taken the opportunity to make an appointment for the evening. So no further planning was delayed.

Exhilarated and vibrating with enthusiasm, Adeláire demanded a certain amount of control, not wanting to rush out and put plans into action. She could not really concentrate on the reading Joséphine had imposed on her and would have gladly missed the evening dinner. The fact that Verne and Arno were delegated at the entrance to guard the salon did not really make things any better. Adeláire caught herself how her eyes grazed their shoulders repeatedly until Arno finally turned his chin a touch. The well-known tingling in the neck made her smile softly and brought her a giggle of the girls who sat opposite her. She did not have to hear their wits to know about the content. Sighing softly, she poked around in her vegetables on her plate.

The evening seemed to be a never ending story until Joséphine finally got up and dissolved the round. Some girls were still sitting together drinking one last coffee, others were already retreating. Adeláire watched with amusement as the little red-haired, Marie, if she was not mistaken, hovered around Verne. She clearly seemed to like him and was not in the least bit concerned to show it. And she was not surprised that Verne seemed too eager to respond. He was by no means a womanizer, but on such a tempting offer he never said no. Her renewed smirk met an unobtrusively grazing, dark look, which once again sent a pleasant shower into the pit of her stomach.

The night was deep, dark and starry as Adeláire finally ventured out of bedspreads and listened intently to the rooms. She shared her room with no one, just like the other girls. But all bedrooms were interconnected by doors that were all open in the current heat, as were the windows. Adeláire therefore saved herself from putting on shoes and threw only a housecoat over the rather airy mousseline nightgown. After all, Verne did not have to see everything.

Silent as a shadow, she approached one of the open windows and spread her senses. There was no patrol outside, everyone was sleeping soundly and deeply inside. Thoughtfully her gaze wandered down the facade and finally turned inwards to consider the possibilities there. Sighing, green eyes slid down her clothes and how she wished pants and shirt now. But if someone finds her outside, such an outfit would be much too treacherous. So she made the best of it and knotted the layers of the nightgown fabric between her knees and the cloak around her waist.

Carefully and quietly like a cat, the assassin finally swung out of the open window and instinctively steadied herself. She enjoyed the small climb down on level ground more than she had realized. Although her muscles protested more than usual. The lack of training was already noticeable. She would have to work some things up if they could finally leave this place.

Sneaking, quiet, purposeful, Adeláire finally headed for her destination, the horse stables. As skirt and coat, freed from knots and repeatedly caught in bushes, she gathered the fabrics determined and enjoyed the air drafting her bare thighs.

There were only a few lights in the stable and the horses made almost as drowsy of noises as the girls did in their beds. Adeláire did not really fear an ambush. Nevertheless, it had become second nature to her that she had to approach a meeting place with caution, that this was the natural way of doing it. Inaudible as a whisper in the wind, despite the disturbing layers of fabric, she snuggled into cover and spread her senses.

She only detected a silent waiting presence in the back of the stable, appearing only vague due to the limitation of her special senses. Smiling softly, she pulled herself out of the cover and almost did not notice that she continued to move from one cover to the next through the stable. It almost seemed like an eternity that she had last been able to use her Assassin skills. All the more surprised she was with a soft curse on her lips as a strong arm gripped her unyielding around the waist while a free hand brushed her hair aside to release warm lips on her neck.

"Arno... what..." she whispered softly, as his strong, board chest pressed into her back.  He gently pushed her forward, his arm around her waist unyielding and demanding.

"Shhh... so that no one else discovers us..." he whispered softly near her ear as he guided her from behind.

Sighing treacherously, she gave into his movement until one of the stable walls stopped them. While Arno's body held her against the wall, his hands wandered with clear targets. One fumbled her skirts upwards while the other sought her cleavage. Adeláire felt her senses buzzing and she did not quite know how to react.

"But... Verne..." she said, though not in a nearly convincing enough, protesting manner.

"He’s getting better acquainted with the little redhead... so we're... completely alone..."  His voice sounded rough against her ear, while he did not let himself be dissuaded from the caresses that had begun. Targeted, he fumbled the closure of her coat off and pulled it vigorously from her shoulders. Adeláire leaned trembling against the wooden wall of the horse box, which she realized only now, that they were in.

"You're crazy... if someone sees us... or hears..." Again that soft whisper did not really sound like a protest in her ears. Especially not when a strong jerk made the delicate underwear tear apart and his trousers snuggled up against bared, tender skin.

"Will you stop talking sometime today?" He turned her chin and made it clear that he did not really want an answer to his question by firmly sealing her lips with his. Delicate fingertips dug into his long hair and, appreciatively lolling, Adeláire sagged her spine. With a certain amount of satisfaction, she registered his breathlessness as the same as hers when the kiss ended for the time being.

"You realize how dangerous and... stupid... this is all right here, right?"

His eyes sparkled dangerously with amusement as one hand unerringly found the most receptive place for caresses between her thighs. When it seared her like a flash of lightning, and only his holding arm around her waist held her on trembling knees, she emitted a sigh that was clearly too loud in both of their ears. Hurriedly, Arno suppressed any more possible traitorous sounds by another kiss. A mean smirk played around the corner of his mouth as he broke away from her.

"Only if you continue to attract such unwanted attention to us." A renewed movement of his hand between her thighs that made her senses whirr.

"Bastard..." she whispered, almost a little powerless.

"Who's going to behave so badly..." he whispered softly at her neck as her hot forehead leaned against the wall and soft lips cuddled her shoulder.

"Keep it up and I can’t guarantee anything..." A sudden gasp escaped her throat as knowing fingertips made her knees tremble again.

"That's the declared goal of this little... assault..." His voice had an amused tone while he did not even begin to think about putting an end to this dangerous game.

"And I thought you were a man of honor..." The wave of sensations, which at the same time made its way through her body, she only kept vocally under control by biting one of her thumbs. However, he did not give her much time to come to her senses. Gently but emphatically, he turned her around. His right hand pushed into her neck as the left wandered down her thigh and finally, at her knee, pulled it up to his waist.

It was too dark to read in his eyes, but the voice carried enough.  "I think I do not have to start this proof again. And whether it suits a man of honor or not, in the next few days I'll like the idea that your sweet bosom will remember exactly this every time we see each other."

His voice sent one after the other shiver over her heated skin. It was this timbre of amusement and restrained passion that made her tremble. And so slowly, she even did not care how dangerous and stupid it was, what they were about to do. With a soft sigh, her fingers pushed into his neck while the others grabbed the epaulette of his uniform coat. With a skillful swing she pulled her free knee up and closed both thighs around his hips. The surprised lifting of his eyebrows made her smirk.

"Then you should make sure that my sweet bosom, as you call it so lovingly, will remember this for quite a long time and in very sweet detail." She could hear the luscious undertone in her voice quite clearly. And apparently neither this nor her chosen words missed their goal. Hot lips met hers and suffocated every sound as their both longing for each other became fulfilled through uniting.

As if by a miracle, they did actually succeed in not letting betraying sounds escape to the outside. Even the horses around them did not seem to be bothered by them. Even the wood in Adeláire’s back, which distracted her now and then with a splinter in delicate skin, made no sound. They could enjoy and savor each other with pleasure. And the latter, according to her provocative words, seemed clearly to be in Dorian's sense.

Every time Adeláire thought she could finally fall into salvation, he stopped in his doings and allowed peace to come between them.  Adeláire gradually bathed in sweat and elicited a low whine from her throat. His breath, now similarly heavy and deep, irritated hot shoulder, sometimes neck. Almost powerless, she hung in his arms and felt her thighs trembling around his hips, almost losing their halt.

"Long and detailed enough...?" came, after half an eternity of this driving game, the hoarse question.

Adelaire opened her eyes and met his challenging, dark gaze. She felt, how she stubbornly squeezed her lips, and she began, almost a little outraged, to release the halt of her thighs. Which led Arno to an almost sardonic, smirking smile and he stopped her doing by holding her knees exactly where they were, "Mhmm... wrong answer ..." Provocative, he began to move, causing the flame to rekindle in her.

With a risky sound, she bent toward him and clung to his shoulder epaulettes.  "What the hell do you want to hear...?"

Demanding lips on hers, which only resolved after a while of pressing ahead with some vigor. She sensed that he was observing her and demanding her look in his.  "Enough?" Only a very soft, but in their heated condition more than noticeable movement.

"Okay... yes... enough..." she sighed.  "If you, bastard, want to have it so..."  The rest of her sentence was suffocated by a hot wave of emotion and a passionately deep kiss. The salvation finally burned like a stake fire from her center through her entire body. Adeláire sensed that she had no voice, even if her lips were not sealed by his kiss. As in the reflex, it activated her special sense and let it meet his. It was as if she was not only aware of herself, but of him as well. The emotions flowed back and forth, to and fro, driving them to heights and abysses that Adeláire had never encountered before. Almost her mind did not really understand when it finally ended. Only the abating of burning and the return of reality around her conveyed that it was over.

Breathing heavily and sweating as she did, Arno gently and carefully released her knees to lean on the wall behind her with both hands. Adeláire sensed her trembling like aspen leaves and felt that only his body against hers held her on her feet. Soughing support, she almost clung to his shoulders and leaned her forehead against his, that their breaths were crossing each other gasping.

"You... madman..." she whispered. She felt more than she could see the corners of his mouth turning into a smile.

“I seldom have heard that… afterwards… from a woman…”

This made her return his gentle smile.  "I'm not just… some… woman..." She felt exactly, deep in herself, in the back of her being, how little she herself believed in these words. All the more, her knees softened again as Dorian raised her head and sought her gaze.

"No, you really are not..." Did he feel the trembling of her lips as much as she did? Sometimes she hated so much having to struggle with sensations as any other woman carried around her. All that was missing was that she wanted nothing more than her own little family.

Determined, she pushed such thoughts aside as they used the hay in the box to regain some strength. Silent and stealthy, she did not even want to admit how much she enjoyed Dorian's arm around her shoulders. To feel how his chest raised and lowered beneath her hand, his heart beating vigorously. Oh yes, she had to admit that she was slowly starting to lose the fight against love.

Arno's fingers played with one of her curls as he gazed thoughtfully at the blanket hidden in the dark.  "Did I get it right that Joséphine will travel for a few days?"

Adeláire was immensely grateful to him that he seemed as unwilling to talk about feelings as she herself. Almost tired, she snuggled closer into his arm, playing with the ornament buttons on his uniform.  "You got that right. And yes, I think we should use the time to finally search the house. Especially as she takes Genévieve and Constanze with her. Which means that the two adjoining rooms will also be vacant. So we could not make it any better."

Smirking lips brushed her head gently.  "That's what you've already thought about carefully."

Fingertips stroked a strand of hair from her forehead while she sighed softly, "Nothing is more boring than being penned to a horde of girls all day."

She felt his big grin.  "Oh... well..." came from him in an amused mocking tone, which caused her to give him a noticeable nudge in the side. He acknowledged her movement by a quiet laugh. Almost a little stubbornly, she let herself be pulled close into his arm again.

"I'll admit, sometimes it's pretty fun to provoke your temper." One of his hands wandered under a rather battered nightgown and playfully covered her butt. "Besides many other… irritable… points..."

She felt the impulse to kiss him and to rekindle their passion. But her stubborn bristling had something against it and gained the upper hand. As a result, she playfully slapped his hand under her shirt, trying to cover herself a bit more in a well-behaved way, "We should rather think about how we want to plan our further course of action. Verne does not know anything about our happy circumstances...,” she paused, recalling where Verne was at the moment.  "Well, he's probably going to be notified as well. And if only to be able to promise further… tête-à-tête…" Her request to distract Arno and turn his thoughts away from her to mission seemed to succeed. Thoughtfully he relaxed under her and snuggled his arm around her shoulders again.

"Joséphine wants to leave tomorrow morning. I think we should let one night pass and then look around carefully for the first time. Then we will know how the house ‘ticks’ at night and can better adapt to it." Still thoughtful, he played with one of her curls. "And somehow I doubt we'll find what we're looking for in the first night."

She nodded silently as her thigh snuggled over his.  "I doubt that, too. So far, this lady Eve was always extremely well informed and prepared. And if we're right and Joséphine has something to do with her… or if she is even Lady Eve herself, then we will not find anything right away."

Arno turned sideways to her and his free hand caressed her thigh.  "I do not think that Joséphine herself is this Lady Eve. That somehow would be too… easy. Too… obvious. Do you understand what I mean?"

Adeláire actually did which caused her to nod in silence. She had not spent so much time with research regarding this lady as Arno, but studying Napoleon's notes had opened the door to a completely different world. She had studied the artifacts known to the French Brotherhood. Had dealt with the notes of Mentor Ezio Auditore. Even had permission to deal with the copies of the code pages of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad had been granted to her. Even though she has not had the opportunity to do so before. But unlike Arno, she had never seen, touched, or used an artifact before. She knew this strange level of reality only from books. And yet, she understood how complex and unobvious all this was.  It only seemed natural that this also applied to Lady Eve.

"Sometimes it all feels so surreal. So… unnatural.  As if it were madness, not just to begotten a family into the world and live a little life,” she muttered softly.

Arno shifted away from her a little and she raised her head to meet his gaze as he asked, "Would that be what you wish for? Your own little family somewhere in the country and live a life far away from all the insane secrets?"

Adeláire broke unpleasantly from his arm, straightened up and turned her back to him. Loosely, her arms embraced her knees and she stared silently into the darkness of the stable. Was it like that? Was this somewhere deep inside her a hidden, heartfelt desire? Was she as normal and like everyone else, despite all her Assassin training?

Arno gave her time to think and answer. The rustling of the hay indicated he was also raising and sitting next to her, patiently waiting.

"I don’t know. I love being an Assassin. Everything has felt so… right… since I started my training." She was silent again, playing absent-mindedly with a stalk of hay. "And yet there are also parts in me that want something completely different. A part that speaks out every time a situation seems hopeless." She paused, thinking for a moment whether she should really dare the following words. "Or… when… a beau crosses the path that could perhaps… be… more..."

A deep silence spread between them. And almost Arno’s voice seemed strange, as she was raised calmly and cautiously, "And then that was always the moment in which you took to your heels, right?"

Once again, Adeláire sensed exactly these damned two opposing poles inside herself. The one who scolded her for having revealed too much. The other, who wanted nothing more than to throw herself into the arms of the man at her side and to blank out all dangers. What remained was a mutely nodding Assassin, who was timidly waiting like a little girl to see just how that man would continue to react.

"You know that I will find you, right? No matter where you may flee..." He did not touch her. Only his voice cradled her like a blanket that matched her stature only too well. She turned to him and met a calm, dark look. She registered pain in his face and had the blissful desire to fathom where it came from. But instead of asking questions, she simply raised her hand and stroked the twitching muscle, the hard jaw line, over the pain in the temple.

"Arno... I..."

Gently as a flapping of wings a finger slipped over her lips and he gently shook his head.  "Don’t…"

Smoothly, his hand moved to the back of her neck and pulled her gently towards him and into a tender kiss. Like flowing water, she changed her posture and position, slipping onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Long, intense, the kiss played back and forth between them. They remained silent as Adeláire broke away from Arno and stroked a strand of dark hair from his forehead. Her fingertips played over his temple and thoughtfully examined his gaze. His hands rested quietly on her hip, waiting.

The decision was quiet, unobtrusive, and began by leaning toward him and with a light, playful kiss. Delicate but purposeful fingers unbuttoned his uniform and shoved it over broad shoulders. She did not spend much time with his shirt and pulled it over his head. Kissing and clinging to him, she urged him back into the hay, which he allowed to happen with too much complacency.

She sensed that he was willing to let the rest of his control go and rose above him. In the little light of the stable she looked at her Assassin brother. She felt a certain seriousness, which surged between them back and forth. The mocking and challenging of her first encounter this night was gone. It was almost as if both of them were making some kind of statement right now.

Another decision and she pushed her nightgown over her shoulders and made it a fabric cascade around her hips. She enjoyed his hands on her feminine curves as she leaned over him and explored his warm skin with caressing lips. Fingertips gently touched the outer scars of memory, knowing that the inner ones had left much deeper marks.

She clearly surprised him by sinking lower and lower with her caresses and finally directing their union on her own. In their physical gathering it seemed to be like on the other levels. Bit by bit, they discovered something new and explored each other better. Be it as an Assassin or as an intimate couple. Because as reluctant as Adeláire wanted to admit this, she suspected their coupledom was accurately defined by present activities.  Though, she knew currently that neither she, nor Arno, wanted to label whatever relationship they may be in; it was better to leave well alone and to simply enjoy the intimate moment.

They shared their mutual enjoyment much more tenaciously and slower than at the beginning of the night. It was almost as if their bodies enjoyed the game, but were not capable of swinging to final heights. But neither of them really bothered. And when it finally happened, it felt like a small, long-drawn fire that spilled like a lazy lava flow into the valley. So it was hardly surprising that it took them a long time to break away from each other. They could not risk falling asleep in the middle of the stable and being caught at dawn. Therefore, they parted before they left the cuddly box to each return to their own bed. Even though Adeláire was utterly incomprehensible about how she should climb the facade with such exhausted power.

\----------------------------------------

 

As discussed, after Joséphine's departure, they had let a night pass before starting with their investigations. Adeláire struggled to restrain her impatience. So close to finally pushing the mission forward, the 48-hour wait seemed like an eternity. Moreover, Dorian was right; each time she saw him, she vividly and intensely remembered their shared night. And he did not hesitate to react to her blushes with small, amused, smirking smiles. He knew he had achieved his goal and let her know that he knew it.

All the more it meant relief for Adeláire, when the second night had finally came, she quietly peeled out of bed like a proverbial shadow and exchanged her nightwear for pants, shirt and boots. Whether out of habit or because she had missed it painfully, she put on her blade. Since arriving in Malmaison she finally felt a bit more like herself.

Already going, she tied her hair together in the neck and began to merge with the shadows of the house. Determinedly, she approached Joséphine's rooms, listening for the regular breathing sounds of the other girls in her rooms along the hallway. There seemed to be no danger from them.

"Well, look who has managed to join us?” Verne mused in a soft, but clearly teasing tone. 

"Yes, yes, I also missed you… brother..." There it was again, the impulse to want to stick out her tongue. And as always, she keep herself under control. Unlike Verne, who pulled her into his arms and embraced her heartily.

"Oh, I admit, it's good to be able to just squeeze you again. This whole spectacle the last few weeks has been really nerve-wracking." Warm, gray eyes smiled down on her. "Are you alright, sister?"

Full of affection, she smiled up at him and nodded in silence, until a mischievous smile crossed her facial expressions.  "Shouldn’t you be in the arms of a certain little redhead?"

Verne laughed softly and winked at her.  "I think she told us everything she knew. Which… was not much. But still needed a lot of scrutiny." A playful grin lit up Verne’s features before letting go of Adeláire and turning to the last newcomer who was swinging through one of the open windows.

"Ah, very good. Complete. Then we can start."

Arno brushed the dust from his trousers and stepped toward them both. Completely surprisingly, he indulged Adeláire a gentle kiss before turning to the room. He completely ignored the surprised lifting of eyebrows on the part of Verne and left it to Adeláire to overplay it somehow.

"Did you start without me?"

Adeláire cleared her throat.  "I only arrived moments before you. Verne was first here."

Verne crossed his arms over his chest and studied his two Assassin colleagues intensely. He saved himself a comment or even an analysis of what had just been bestowed him.  "No, I've been waiting for you."

Arno took off his gloves, which he had slipped for the climbing tour up the front of the house and put them in his belt. Both had spared the uniform and, like Adeláire, were only in shirt, pants, boots and hidden blade on the way. Apparently, they did not expect difficulties or even arguments like she herself.

Arno started, "Okay, so let's start systematically. Adeláire is best at examining everything that is typical of women. She's most likely to notice if there's something unusual among the stuff. Alright?"

She nodded silently and affirmatively at Arno's plans.

"Verne? Books?"

Another silent nod.  "As always,” he said simply, before turning away from them with a last, frowning look and heading for the nearest bookshelf.

"I’ll deal with the desk. Maybe we'll find such a strange mechanism again." Arno's eyes sought Adeláire’s before he briefly touched her upper arm and, after a slight smile, turned away into the room. She sensed that this good team work had come from a myriad of assignments Arno and Verne had mastered together. And it gave her a comforting feeling of being integrated into this round. She still would never have dreamed that she would be out and about with the best, despite her close relationship with Verne and Francesco.

Determined, she straightened her shoulders and turned to Joséphine's bed. Her senses flooded over the frame and the canopy, looking for hiding spots in the headboard and the massive wooden pillars. Sleek and graceful, she finally sank to her knees and sent her senses under the bed, searching. Unsuccessful.

Even examining the two bedside cabinets next to the bed made no sense. Only the usual ladies' items. Not even a diary, as they had found in the Parisian townhouse. Meticulous and accurate to the last millimeter, Adeláire even felt the mattress in the hope that something might have been sewn in there. Also nothing.

Sighing quietly, she finally turned to the wardrobe and examined it thoroughly. Again using senses and fingertips to find anything inside walls or drawers.  The only thing she found was slippery reading.

" _Justine and Juliette,_ from Marquis de Sade. So, Joséphine, not quite as innocent as everybody thinks,” she mused.

Verne stepped behind her and glanced over her shoulder.  “Found something?"

Adeláire shook her head and put the pursued writings back in their hiding place.  "Nothing that would help us. You?"

He sighed quietly in her back. "Neither. So far." A short, thoughtful silence. "Let's just hope that all this effort was not a complete waste of time."

"Not so pessimistic, you two. We just started our search. And who knows, maybe we will not even find it in her premises. Perhaps what we are looking for here is far too obvious. And if we consider how well Eve was prepared for us, I would have been very surprised if we had found something here on a silver platter."  Arno had risen from his desk during his speech and closed all the drawers. He rounded the expansive piece of furniture, which could almost be called a wooden monstrosity, and came over to them.  "Nothing in the books?"

Verne shook his head again.  "General reading as you probably find in any better household. Crébillon, Balzac, Mazères, Thierry. Nothing earth-shattering or even… unusual."

Adeláire chuckled softly.  "True, Justine and Juliette are really the two most noteworthy manuscripts then."

Something shortly glinted in dark brown eyes and returned her smirk.

Verne cleared his throat.  "All right, you two lovebirds. Let's end the search in this room for the moment and dedicate ourselves to the other two. And if there's still time left, we could try to figure out what's behind that ever so carefully locked door in the basement, isn’t that true, my dear Arno? "

So addressed, Dorian blinked briefly before giving Verne a thoughtful look. "True, Adeláire does not know of that yet." He turned to her. "Verne and I have already tried to find out something about the guard commanders assigned to us. He just said that the door had always been locked and only Joséphine and Gaston had a key. So I agree with Verne that we should urgently look around down there."

Adeláire nodded. "All right. Then maybe we should split up. I stay up here trying to find something in Genevieve and Constance's room. You go down and see if you can lock pick the door. That should not really be a big problem regarding your practice." With a gentle smirk, she winked at her two brothers and remembered, at least as far as Verne was concerned, so many doors that seemed to be unbreakable.

Verne nodded affirmatively.  "Good plan. You with your senses here, Arno you with yours down there. Optimum use of resources."

Adeláire caught Arno's scrutinizing look. As well as his frown. He did not have to utter it, than that she knew, what was going through his mind. A gentle smile drew her features softly.  "Do not worry. I’ll be fine. They're just girls' rooms."

She saw one of his hands clench into a fist before releasing it and rubbing his forehead.  "All right then. But still, take care of yourself."

Swift as a soft breeze she approached him and returned his greeting favor with a kiss similar to his own. With a wink, she turned to the door, only to freeze coldly in a shock-induced paralysis.

No sooner had a "merde" escaped her was several, consecutive, clicking sounds. Arno and Verne turned around, sensing at the same moment that the windows were closed by some automatic mechanism. Adeláire jerked again at the door, in vain. It stayed closed.

"Diable,” Verne cursed, diving toward the windows with Arno. But even these remained closed. Adeláire left the door and tried another window, as unsuccessfully as her brothers.

"What's going on here…?" Adeláire started as clouds of smoke began to fill the room from somewhere. Instinctively, she hid her mouth and nose in the crook of her arm and tried to clear the blurring in her eyes. It quickly became obvious that these were not normal smoke bombs. Her senses were already beginning to fog up and as if through thick wool she heard the cough and gasp of her Assassin brothers.

By the wafting of the smoke Arno suddenly appeared in front of her. He hid his mouth and nose in the same way as she did, but released it to grasp her neck. Short, hard and with a hint of desperation they shared a painful kiss. Even before Adeláire could respond to the feel of his hand on her chest, Arno had given her a strong push and sent her backward through bursting glass through one of the windows. Her piercingly scream tore the hitherto prevailing calm of the night and was suffocated as her back painfully crashed into one of the flower arrangements. Only the deeply practiced reflex managed to save her from worse and to find a hold on that very crate. Just long enough that her feet could find direction towards ground, so she could end her crash. Her shoulders protested noticeably and a nasty pain twitched through her left ankle as she hit the ground hard. Gasping, she sank down and urged herself (though inwardly cursing) to use the chance Arno had procured her to escape.

She felt the danger in her back, even before her watery eyes could clear again. Her outstretched blade was parried by a rapier and a rifle butt on her temple sent her unconscious with a thousand stars in front of her eyes. No doubt, they had been caught. And like beginners toddled in the trap. They could only hope and pray that Francesco and LaHache had caught even a hint of all this.


	14. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Assassin's are not always as inviolable as they maybe wish to be.  
> The situation runs absolutely out of control and everyone's asking, who the hell is Joséphine in real.  
> Premiere in this Chapter: change of narrative perspective.

\----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 _\-------_

  

Her head was throbbing and hurting; she immediately sensed that she was in a rather unusual, and above all rather uncomfortable, stance. Groaning softly, she tried to move and immediately heard the clink of chains. Great, they were prisoners. Even before the shameful realization could penetrate deeper, the unconsciousness dragged Adeláire back under.

Her next awakening was not much better than the first one. Her head still ached and throbbed, but the hazy feeling left behind by the stun bombs had vanished. Behind all the pain, her mind slowly came back to life and Adeláire cautiously persuaded her eyes to open a gap, only to realize that it was pitch dark around her.

She spread her senses and tried to grasp the room; she sighed with relief when she felt two more presences in close proximity to herself. The relief, however, quickly faded as she realized what this meant for all of them. They could only hope for Francesco and LaHache now.

Adeláires neck tingled, as always, when Arno caught her with his senses. Relieved, she breathed. It seemed to go well enough for him so that he, similar her itself, were able to use his senses. She cleared her throat carefully and licked dry lips. A side effect of the stun bombs?

"Arno? Verne?" She whispered softly and hoarsely.

"We are here. Everything’s fine." Clanking chains indicated that they needed to be in a similar position and stance as she was.

"I think ‘everything’s fine’ is much exaggerated,” Verne said quietly. A new, distinct clank of chains reached her ears. Apparently, one of the two seemed to want to test them.

"Merde, all my pickpockets are in the belt, to which… I can’t get to…" Arno's following curse apparently turned out to be much crasser than "Merde", as always when he fell into his German language.

"I believe that even if you could reach them, you would not have much chance of success. Or it will take more time than we certainly have available.” Verne’s analysis sounded logical, especially when a key in a door creaked. All three assassins narrowed their eyes and turned their heads away from the flickering light of a torch.

"Aahhh, our guests have awakened. Very beautiful. Then we can go ahead with the pander of our thirst for knowledge.” Adeláire clenched her hands into furious fists when she recognized Joséphine's voice. What the devil was going on here?

Adeláire used the opportunity to look around. Arno stood in the middle of the small room, in which various terrible instruments were distributed over tables, apparently used for questioning. His arms were stretched tight over his head by handcuffs and chains. Obviously, he had already undergone several tests. Blood on his wrists was already coloring his shirt red.

Verne stood in the left side of her on one of the walls of the room. His wrists, as well as her own, were also handcuffed and held in place by a chain over his head. Softly sighing, Adeláire had to admit that the general situation did not look very good for them. Concerned, she watched Joséphine hover around Arno.

"Ask. But do not expect any answers,” he spat on Bonaparte's wife in an aggressive manner. Joséphine smiled dangerously, grabbed his chin with one hand, and finally nodded to Genévieve, who had been waiting in the doorway with Constanze. Something hissed and slapped and a whip slashed across Arno's back to immediately leave a dark, bloody weal behind.

Adeláire only bit back with great difficulty a horrified outcry. Unquestionably and highly undesirable, pictures of her childhood crowded before her eyes. Images of her father in a similarly delivered form superimposed those of Arno today. It made her chest narrow and only with great difficulty did she catch her breath. Desperately, she stemmed herself in the chains, in vain.

Arno wrecked under the blow and in the chains, the links clinking. But he gave Joséphine no cry of pain. He merely bared his clenched teeth and let out a hissing breath. Joséphine still clutched his chin as she leaned close to him and whispered into his ear with a smug smile on the corners of his mouth, "Believe me, handsome, my girls have exercise in handling the whip. You will not be able to hold on any longer than them. And it would be a pity about that lovely back. Wouldn’t it?”

Angrily, Arno wrenched away his chin as his dark eyes sparkled in the torchlight. "What do you want? And what's this all about? "

Joséphine laughed brightly and began her circling around again. A riding crop tapped gently against the skirt, which was merely a camouflage effect for the trousers underneath. Overall, Joséphine’s outfit seemed more than strange. The blouse was high-necked and tight fitting, the hair was stricter in a simple hairstyle. Not much remained of the lady who gave balls and soirées.

"You three are the ones who have invaded my house. And this for the second time now. The infiltration of my spouse's office laid out initially. You have paid no heed to any warnings or hints and have not let yourself stray from your path." She stopped in front of Arno and caught his eye with that viper like smile.  "Not even when we gave you a clear warning shot." With sharp fingers, she drilled right into the spot where Arno had hit the bullet. With another hissing sound he tried to turn the wound away from her, unsuccessfully. Joséphine lashed out with the whip and pulled it unerringly across the scar, as if he was standing shirtless in front of her.

This time an iron-heavy fist seemed to close around Adeláire’s heart as she watched helplessly as the pain caused Arno to stumble briefly in the knees. He tensed arm and shoulder muscles to straighten up and leaned forward in the chains until his breath had brushed against Joséphine's skin, "Oh look, so I owe you this little souvenir? Since when do you know about us?"

Another nod and a second hit of Genevieve's whip bit across Arno's back. Adeláire felt hot tears well up in her eyes as she glanced over trembling muscles.

"I'm… asking the questions here… Monsieur Dorian." A triumphant smile as Arno did not regain control quickly enough and his eyes widened in surprise.  "Oh yes, I know exactly who you are; Arno Victor Dorian. The Assassin, who encountered my husband for the first time, as he visited the former apartments of Louis XVI, who has managed to get rid of Rouille and thus paved the way for his career. He was even courteous enough to protect my first rendezvous with Napoleon." She had begun to circle him again at her words and finally stopped in front of him again.

"And just that Assassin who literally snatched the artifact away in front of the nose of my husband in Saint-Denis." Joséphine's features became ugly. "I could pardon everything, forgive and forget everything. But you did not think this chess move well enough then, Monsieur Dorian. And he has given me some discomfort and detours."

Arno lifted his chin and studied Joséphine intensely.  "So you are that ominous Lady Eve."

A bright laugh before Joséphine turned away from him and headed for Adeláire.  "I am not going to enlighten you here and now about Lady Eve. This is neither for you nor is it a knowledge intended for Assassin ears." Almost tenderly, Joséphine let the tail of the riding crops descend from Adeláire's temple down to her neck, her gaze flickering to Arno. She could clearly see the tension in his muscles and stature. Even Verne straightened up and braced himself against the shackles. Joséphine smiled pensive.

"Oh, and before you suspect into the wrong direction, neither for Templar ears." She turned her back on Adeláire abruptly. "This knowledge is intended only for those who are associated with Lady Eve. As for Germain, who was exactly responsible for his death, Monsieur Dorian?”

Adeláire did not have to see the malicious smile to know it was there. However, what she clearly saw was Arno's hands, which whitened as they clenched into fists. His eyes burned angrily.  "If you know all this, and apparently much more, why are we still alive and honored to name ourselves your prisoners?"

Joséphine leaned against the wall next to Adeláire, studying her features from the side. Fingertips picked up one of her curls and played with it. A smug smile played around the corner of her mouth while a cold chill ran down Adeláire’s back. Instinctively, though unsuccessfully, she tried to distance herself from Joséphine.

"Because, Monsieur Dorian, I still have plans for you." She turned her eyes on Arno without changing her position next to Adeláire. "I know you. And I know, once you've locked your yaw on something, you do not give up so easily. Just like back then with Germain. Though the pursuit of revenge was rather driven by your childhood sweetheart, than that of yourself.”

Adeláire knew this painful twitching muscle in Arno's features only too well as soon as memories of Élise arose. She was almost grateful to Joséphine for the gentle cooling of the feelings in her stomach. She kept Arno's gaze between rage and helplessness as well as she could.

"Of course it would be easy to put an end to this ‘locking your yaw on something' by just eliminating all of you." A venomous smile as Joséphine pulled Adeláire's hair painfully. "But ... that does not match my suggestions. And I suppose it would immediately send all members of your order of murderers rushing for my neck."

Abruptly Joséphine resumed her walk in the room. Breathing in unobtrusively, Adeláire took the opportunity to explore it. Verne did not have much chance to change or improve his situation. Constanze and Genevieve guarded the exit, so to speak, and there were certainly enough guards in front of the locked door. Even if all of them had not been chained, there would be little chance of escape.

"You know Monsieur Dorian, I have nothing against you. Nothing in particular. You've crossed my plans once or twice. But not sustainable enough for you to do any harm. Nevertheless, you are getting annoying. Especially now that we are so close to achieving our goals." She stopped shortly in front of Arno. "And yes, you guessed right. We will help my man to rank and power. And with the Piece of Eden, which you absolutely had to make abroad for a few years instead of giving it directly into our hands, he will take France to new heights never seen before. "

Arno did not answer her, merely clenching his lips as she began to playfully unbuttoning his shirt.

"Still the question remains why I let you all live. Well, you may suspect it. You, Monsieur Dorian, and our adorable Mademoiselle Fontaine are in possession of what Lady Eve really aspires."

Neither Adeláire nor Arno possessed the presence of mind at that moment to hold themselves under absolute control. Both features twisted in surprise as they swiftly exchanged a glance before Arno frowned back at Joséphine. She still smiled smugly.

"You both have a gift. And this gift is based on an ancient gene that was planted in your blood centuries ago. Or have you never wondered that there are so few with this gift and that those who own them are getting jealously guarded." She smiled mischievously. "Well, in your case, Monsieur Dorian, not quite so jealous. The Assassin Council did not do a good job of excluding you. But well, let's just assume that they never let you stumble unhindered through the history of the world."

"What's all this babble of genes and gifts Lady? If you want to kill us, fine, kill us. But spare us the bleeding of our ears."

Adeláire gasped in shock and hold her breath for a moment. What the hell did Verne want to achieve with this provocation.

Joséphine did not even look at him for an answer.  "You, Monsieur Lemoine, should be careful what you wish for. Right now, you're the one which is the most likely dispensable."

Arno acknowledged this statement with a renewed, angry, though completely helpless, gaze.  "Do not dare touch him,” he finally hissed, lowly.

Joséphine patted his cheek playfully before resuming her walk.  "So gentlemen, the whole thing will work out this way. The Ladies and I will let you, Monsieur Dorian, and you, Monsieur Lemoine, go. And as a reassurance that you leave me, my estate and my plans for the coming, say, eight weeks in peace, the lovely Mademoiselle Fontaine will continue to keep us company."

Verne and Arno stemmed themselves almost at the same time in the shackles:

"Not ever!"

"Not on any account!"

Joséphine turned her gaze to Arno and something burnt disgustingly in its depths. Another nod. Arno tensed. But this time no whip hissed, but the shocked breath of Verne. Adeláires and Arnos glanced flashed almost at the same time towards their brother, from whom Constanze had just stepped back, drawing a bloody knife out of his side.

"Verne!! No!!” the scream belted from Adeláire’s throat before she could hold back, just as now the tears finally flowed. The chains clinked angrily as she and Arno protested against their hold.

"So, Monsieur Dorian. You have the choice now. To stay here, to let your friend die and to helplessly attend the other measures intended for your beloved." Adeláire hated Joséphine's pause for effect. "Or at least saving your life and that of your friend." Joséphine turned away from the angry helpless in the chains restraining Arno.

"Of course, you have my assurance that your pretty beloved will stay alive." She turned to him again. "But only as long as you do not interfere in my affairs. Should I get to see even a hair tip of you in the coming days, weeks..." The grip of the riding crop tipped on Arno's heart. "...she dies." Again one of these dramatic pause for effect. "Should you come up with the idea to rush us new, supposedly unknown Assassinbrothers and -sisters on the neck..." Another tapping of the riding crop on Arnos heart. "...she dies. Should you try to contact my husband or intervene again on the Marquis... she dies." Deep silence spread. "Are we clear... Monsieur Dorian?"

Angry and obstinate, Arno merely returned Joséphine's gaze and refused her an answer. Which only resulted in another nod and bite of the whip. This time, the violence seemed appropriate enough to wrest him a pained sound. Which only aroused his anger even more.

"I asked if we understood each other, Monsieur Dorian?"

"Oui, vous cunt,” he growled insultingly, which was acknowledged by Joséphine only with a thin smile. She did not even have to nod for the ensuing hiss of the whip. Arno stumbled again and groaned, burning muscles pulling him back to his feet. Adeláire barely kept back further tears. She felt the impulse to avert her gaze and still could not.

"As soon as our plans for my husband have been implemented, I give Mademoiselle Fontaine her freedom and the likes to hurry back into your arms."

Arno's burning eyes pinned on Joséphine, and Adeláire could clearly see a kind of murderous rage. Verne did his best to suppress a groan.

"Arno..." Adeláire started softly. "Arno!" Only her clearly louder request showed effect. His eyes, helpless, held hers.

"Go… take care of Verne. I… can do it..." She could clearly hear how little she herself believed her own words. Still, the mission was more important. And even more important was the saving of a currently acutely endangered life. She tried to eliminate everything trembling and tightened her stature. Her voice actually managed a more insistent sound.

"Go!"

„“ ----------------- „“

 

Arno felt torn between the more than thin options and choices. He distinctly heard the shallow breathing of his friend, felt through his senses how the power left him. And yet again it threw him into the conflict between sanity and love. He dared not to look away from those green eyes that had come so close to him in the last weeks, days. Would he ever be granted to just give his heart away safely?

He felt it almost threatening to tear him apart as his jaw line tightened and he made a decision. Without turning his gaze from Adeláire he answered Joséphine.  "As you wish. We will go and not continue to cross your plans. But we expect a weekly life sign from Adeláire. In letter form. In her own handwriting." He tore his eyes away from the green ones and fixed them on Bonaparte's wife. "And believe me, if such a letter arrives just a day late, you'll know what it means to cross the Assassins."

Again, this viper approached him and slid a playing finger over his chest. How he would like now to drive his blade into her throat like he did with Germain.

"You are no longer an Assassin, Monsieur Dorian. I therefore do not consider this threat to be very substantial." How much he detested this poisonous smile. "But please, you should have your letters, if that's so dear to you."

A renewed nod did not result in a whip or a knife this time, but turning a key in Verne's handcuffs. Arno gave his friend a worried look and checked his condition with his gift. It was not yet threatening, but it was time they got him to a doctor.

He attributed it to blind anger that, as his wrists also left the shackles, his right hand shoot out to Joséphine's throat and squeezed noticeable. Only with half an ear did he hear the sound of the cocking of the pistol trigger.  "Before your girls can pull the trigger, I've already broken your neck. Just give me one good reason why I should not give in to this heartfelt desire."

This bitch did not even tremble in his grasp, let alone that her eyes lost venom.  "Because you, Monsieur Dorian, would have killed me then. But immediately afterwards ends again before the heroic task of having to bore your love to the grave." That voice, that complacency. And yet his eyes twitched to Adeláire and an iron fist seemingly closed around his stomach. Constanze's pistol lay with a tense deduction directly over Adeláires heart.

Arno realized in a fraction of a second that he would never be able to overcome the distance, even if not large, quickly enough. Even if he had been in possession of his phantom blade, it would have taken more time to cock and fire than it cost Constanze to push through the trigger of the gun. With a painful growl, he dismissed Joséphine's throat and stepped back two steps.

"I knew you would be reasonable. And now, Monsieur Dorian, I allow you and your friend to go. We are even so generous to provide you horses."

Arno felt cold creep into his bones. He felt torn between his friend and, yes, he had to admit it, his newly growing love. A glance in her direction and another silently formed "Go" did not really help. Stiffly, he turned to Verne and propped him up, wrapping one of his arms around his shoulders. Silently, both of them exchanged one last look with their Assassin sister, before Arno started to leave the room with heavy steps.

 

 „“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire suppressed every sound as her eyes fixed on the backs of her brothers. She gritted her teeth as the door slammed heavily into the lock behind them. Somehow it sounded final in her ears.

Furious and fiercely, she met Joséphine's gaze as she forced her chin around. Their traits still adorned this poisonous-smug smile.  "At the moment, you may feel that this is all too hard and too harsh. But believe me, my love, you will understand soon. And it will literally open your eyes."

Adeláire did not succeed to wrest her chin away from Joséphine. But she could give her voice enough caustic.  "I do not care what the fuck you have to say. You’ve hurt my brothers. And I'll let you pay for that. Someday. Somehow."

Once again Joséphine elicited a laugh. "Oh, I like you Assassins. You are so... combative. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. And yet you bow your heads before a council from which you must have your goals blessed. You are no more or less than the government bureaucracy today. You only dress in a more mysterious way."

Which gave all girls, except Adeláire, a giggle. And indeed, Constanze opened the door again and beckoned one of the guards. The Assassin recognized only too confidently and with a painful stab in the heart her hooded cloak.

Joséphine leaned against the wall beside her. She wrapped an arm around her waist as she lifted her other hand to her lips and chewed on her thumbnail.  "Tell me Adeláire, honestly. Did you really think you could just walk around with such a threadbare story and get hold of our... my… secrets? Are all Assassins so naive? Or is it more... arrogance?"

Petulant Adeláire squeezed her lips tightly and shifted her weight, but immediately determined it to be a mistake. Hissing painfully, the joint she cracked by her fall earlier answered and she hurried to put her weight back on the proper leg.

"Hm, I think today she will not really want to talk to us anymore. What do you think, Madame?" Constanze threw the assassin's coat over one of the instrument tables and leaned against it with her arms folded. Slowly Adeláire seriously wondered what they were all about. Should all of this be something of a kind of Amazon cult?

Joséphine distracted her by pulling away from the wall.  "You seem right Constanze. We should give Mademoiselle Fontaine some time to spare. Maybe her clever mind will make some wise decisions."

Adeláire gathered the last bit of saliva and spat it on Joséphine's feet. At first it seemed like she did not want to react. Then, without any warning, the riding crop hissed and dragged Adeláire across the nose from the right cheekbone to the left-sided chin. Panting painfully she hung her head and hated the trembling of her knees.

Without any further word, the ladies left the room and left Adeláire behind in complete darkness. Only now, in the dark, alone and unobserved, did she let her tears, which burned hot on the fresh stream, flow. In such a seemingly hopeless situation she had never been in her 26 years, she did not have the strength to concentrate her mind on solutions. Still she felt hot this pain of being alone, of isolation. Weakness, how much she hated her. But even the otherwise so maltreating, impelling voices inside her remain hollow silent.

Would she be deeply religious, she would pray. But so she could only believe in herself and hope for her brothers.

 

 


	15. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do if someone is trapped and you can't do nothing about because you would risk a life?  
> A nearly impossible decision and a kind of Situation, no one would like to endure. Even not if you are an Assassin.
> 
> And for those, who already may have asked themselves : welcome to the Start of Modern Day Story... x)

\----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 _\-------_

 

 

Arno dragged his friend up the steps while groaning and sucking cool night air deep into his lungs, before finally reaching the end of the stairs. Verne stumbled and groaned as well softly.

"Hang in there. No one here is going to die today." Arno was not sure if he wanted to convince himself more, let alone his friend.

"Shut up and get her out of there..." Verne mumbled, powerless. Arno saved himself an answer to this impossible request. A glance at the guards, which kept the announced horses ready, implied that he couldn’t expect support from them regarding bandages. He leaned Verne against one of the horses and supported his back. "Hold on tight to the saddle. I must first see that we stop the bleeding."

 Verne followed the order only halfway, while he tried to push Arno away from him with the other arm, and replied weakly, "I said... you should..."

"I know what you said, idiot. And you know as well as I do that we can’t do that right now. So stop fidgeting and let me take care of the wound." Arno kept his voice down that it sounded more like a hiss.

Without thinking about it, he tore the scraps of his shirt off his shoulders and used the strips to barely stop the bleeding. It was clear that this did not help much, but it was better than nothing. He groaned quietly and, with painfully protesting muscles, finally heaved his friend into the saddle. He felt his angry eyes burning as he ripped the reins of the second horse from another guard's hands. Barely sitting in the saddle as well, he took Verne's horse in tow and rode out of the property.

Even before he passed the gate, he spread his senses and sought in the shadows for his brothers. He did not have to wait long for a call. Francesco and LaHache broke away from bushes to the right and left of the path. Both escaped a curse as their eyes captured the situation.

"No questions. Later. First we need a doctor."

LaHache reacted first and whistled between the teeth, causing two more horses to trot along. Francesco tore the sound out of his shock-induced paralysis and smoothly swung himself into the saddle of a chestnut mare, while LaHache matched him with his gray steed. And indeed, the men used their spores to dig in the horses’ sides and pushed their mounts forward with hasty, short lutes.

Arno sighed inwardly, relieved for the moment. He knew that the questions he had been able to stop for now would definitely follow later. He admitted he had missed working with these three men. This deep understanding and perfect coordination, he had never been able to achieve with other Assassins since those days. With all that had gone wrong so far in his life, the friendship with, yes, of all three, was definitely not one of his many mistakes.

The village, which they entered after a short time, did not even have a name, so small was it. LaHache tightened the reins a little too harshly, so that the gray horse rose protesting, neighing briefly in the forelegs. However, this proved advantageous when the door of the house, before which they had stopped, opened and a lamp lit a woman's face.

Miraculously, this woman did not ask questions either. Her eyes glided silently over the four men until it came to rest on Verne, who hung more on his horse than sat.  "Bring him in. Quick."

Arno swung himself out of the saddle and helped his friend to dismount. Groaning, Verne almost fell like a wet sack into the arms of his brothers. Francesco took one arm while Arno wrapped the other one around his own shoulders again, ignoring the painful welts on his back. Meanwhile LaHache took care of the horses.

In the house, the woman was already waiting at the top of the stairs, beckoning them to bring Verne up. When they had finally dropped their friend on a bed, who was now more unconscious than anything else, they were already being pushed insistently out of the room.

On the lower floor, they were awaited afterwards by LaHache, who had miraculously found a bottle of wine. Francesco inspected Arno briefly, who was sinking heavily into one of the chairs. Still wordless, he turned to a box, rummaged for a shirt and threw it to Arno.

Gratefully, Arno covered the fresh welts on his back. Hissing painfully, he flinched as the fabric touched the open wounds. He would probably have to endorse himself into the hands of the healer as well, after she had taken sufficient care of Verne. Sighing, he finally propped his elbows on his knees and massaged his forehead with one hand.

"All right, Dorian. End of the grace period. Start talking."

Arno could not blame LaHache for the biting tone. Not only for his taste, too many members of the team had been injured during this mission already.

"Very simple. We were busted. And stumbled blind into a trap. Joséphine knew from the beginning who and what we are. She knows me and my past inside out. And she seems to follow us since we started the mission. She just has to have her spies everywhere. It was just a game the whole time and she only waited for an opportunity to place the barrel of the gun on our chest."  Arno raised his eyes and studied Francesco, who was leaning against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed.

LaHache had straddled one of the chairs in the usual manner and handed Arno the wine bottle at eye contact. Thankfully, he took a deep sip from the not really good red.

"Obvious question with hopefully not the most obvious answer I'm afraid of. Where is Adeláire?" Francesco's tone was anything but warm.

Arno lowered the bottle between his knees and propped up his elbows again. He felt muscles in his face twitch painfully and his jaw cramp. He did not dare to meet one of the two glances resting on him at the moment.

"She... is still there. Practically as a pledge." He hated how his voice sounded in his ears. Pressed, dull, helpless. A long, deep silence followed his words until, surprisingly, it was Francesco who started to speak again.

"She ... is ... what now?"

Arno hung his head a little more to finally tighten and straighten up. He knew he could not help but face it.  "She serves as Joséphine's assurance that we will not disrupt her plans. If we, the Council or anyone else do anything that does not suit Joséphine, then..." He swallowed hard and could not force himself to finish the sentence. Silently he raised his eyes to meet Francesco’s.

The expression in his dark eyes hit him almost as hard as the whip’s lashes.  "...then... she dies, right?"

Arno just nodded silently.

Energetically, Francesco pushed away from the wall and crossed the room with two long strides. Arno knew what followed and did nothing to protect himself. He braced himself for the pain as Francesco's fist crashed into his jaw. It made him stumble on the chair and sent stars into his view. Panting, he propped his hand against the wall beside him and sat up slowly. Once again, he met the gaze of the man, whom he later hopefully could still call his friend.

The anger that flashed deep in Francesco's eyes reflected his own. And Arno understood him too well. He shrugged his shoulders when it looked like Francesco was about to hit him again. Instead, the other one turned away from him with a frustrated sound.  "You promised. Me and all of us. No unnecessary dangers. And? What happened? One of ours is trapped and we have not the slightest chance of getting her out of there." Francesco paced the room furiously.

Considering that he was usually the quiet guy in the group of four, Arno did not want to know how LaHache felt right now, which was amazingly quiet right now. He did not look at the older man, but once again met Francesco gaze as he stopped.

"What is it with you and women? Do you just fall in love to lose them again through tragic death?"

Something in Arno snapped and he felt angry fire flare up in him. Hastily he set the wine bottle aside, rose and bridged the distance to Francesco. However, the latter seemed less willing than he himself to simply accept the attack. He ducked under Arno's blow against his chin and landed a powerful punch with his elbow on his part. Battered, as he already was, Arno stumbled and sank heavily to his knees.

"She's like a damn little sister to me! You should take care of her and not leave her like a sheep on the slaughterhouse!! And it almost cost Verne his damned life!! I have not seen so much bungling during a mission for a long time. Did you scumbag really forget everything you've been taught? "

Arno did not even have to use his senses to capture Francesco's desperate anger. If only he could make it comprehensible to him that he did not fare much differently himself. It squeezed all air out of his lungs as Francesco pursued and his knee rammed painfully into Arno's stomach. Rattling collapsing on the ground, Arno struggled to gather himself as he kept track of Francesco's footsteps, which were striding up and down beside him.

"Enough, Cesco. He already has more than enough pain and injuries. If you break all of his bones now, we'll be stuck here for weeks."

LaHache's words were just acknowledged with an angry snort. The up and down wander did not stop though. Groaning and with painful protesting muscles, Arno began to scramble up onto his hands and knees. LaHache handed him a hand and helped pull himself to his feet. Arno did not dare to look one of them in the eye. Too much of the charges reflected his own inner reproaches.

"At least did you find out something?"

Arno winced at the question and felt himself more than ever like a beaten dog.  "Nothing really tangible, which would bring us forward regarding Bonaparte. He seems to have definitely gotten the artifact from Saint-Denis. And the plans to help him to power seem closer to their goal. Joséphine asked for eight weeks peace." Arno said nothing, and pulled himself another chair; massaged the aching chin.  "Sieyés was at one of Joséphine's soirees. I think if her plans have something to aim, then he definitely has something to do with it."

Silence entered the room. Arno looked at his hands in his lap and tried to displace the image in front of his eyes. The green eyes in the face stiff in desperation. The effort to give him confidence that she would actually succeed. Silently he buried his eyes in one hand and urged back the burning in them.

"All right then. I ride to Paris and apprise the council about the developments. And I will go to the Marquis to discuss weather, and if so, how we get to Sieyés. Joséphine did not forbid this contact, did she?" Francesco's voice had something caustic at the end, that it made Arno shrug his shoulders again guiltily.

"To be honest... I do not know. She mentioned that we should leave ‘her plans’ alone. And they probably have something to do with Sieyés." Arno finally looked up at Francesco. "I would not risk it. In..." he swallowed hard, "... Adeláires behalf."

This time it was Francesco who turned away from him. He seemed to have read Arno's pain and accept it. Silently he fumbled his gloves out of his belt and slipped them over. His hood followed, overshadowing his features.  "Good, we keep distance to Sieyés. On the way to Paris, I'll think about what alternatives we might have." His gaze was invisible in the shadows of his hood as he fixed Arno.  "And you... my friend... will swing your ass back to the mansion and keep a watch with your gift that they actually let Adeláire live. Do you understand me? If I come back and hear that she's dead, then... I guarantee nothing..." The normally quiet voice growled menacingly.

Arno felt helplessness threaten him again, as in this cellar.  "Cesco, my gift doesn’t reach thus far. I..."

Francesco interrupted him with a domineering gesture.  "Then train it, Goddamn it. You once told me that in the past it was even less pronounced than it is now. So do something for it this time and manage that you push the limits. This is about something." The dark look of the Assassin brother jerked to LaHache. "Jean, take care that he does not hang up and get drunk. Would not be the first time."

Arno felt as anger slowly re-mingled with the shame. As rightful as Francesco was with his words and reproaches, something in him wanted to rebel so much against all this guilt. He forced himself to silence and pressed his lips together mutely. Out of the corner of his eye he perceived LaHache's confirming gesture.

Without another word Francesco turned away and headed for the outside. A short time later, they heard him mounting his horse and giving it the heels. Only when no further sound was heard did LaHache get up from his chair and approach Arno.

"Come on. The healer should nearly be done with Verne. Time it she looked at those nasty marks on your back." Jean grabbed him under the armpit and pulled him relentlessly to his feet.

Climbing the stairs seemed like an almost too difficult task, but Arno somehow mastered it. Jean was right, Verne was doctored and drugged in his sheets, and the healer was just washing out instruments and cloths. She nodded briefly to LaHache, who silently set Arno down to straddle one of the chairs. Unexpectedly gentle, he helped peel him out of the shirt, which had already begun to soak up blood. It was only with difficulty that the younger man bit off painful sounds.

"Diable, what did they do to you?" LaHache snarled. The healer joined him.

"If I should guess, bullwhip. No other instrument leaves such marks." Arno took the opportunity to cross his arms on the back of the chair and lay his forehead on it. The recent experiences danced again before his closing eyes. And the green of a desperate glance.

"Bastards. What antediluvian lunatics live on this estate." LaHache's growling voice did not seem to expect or even want an answer. Silently, he assisted the healer, as she devoted herself to the care of the welts. The pain distracted Arno at least from the pictures of the night. And when he felt his senses buzz and he threatened to collapse, LaHache who held him upright. Not too long ago, Arno would have laughed hard at anyone who told him that they would once again find their way back to friend status. Now he was grateful for the strong arm, which then helped him into the sheets of a bed. In spite of everything, Arno did not really wonder that he was actually falling asleep. His body demanded rest and took it relentlessly.

 

„“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire did not really find sleep in her uncomfortable position. What's more, any noise in the darkness of the cellar startled her, fearing that Joséphine would return. And when her eyes closed, the images of events danced before them. And the sight of angry helplessness in the man who, by now, had become such a figure of support and strength to her

Hour after hour passed, without Adeláire having even a rudimentary idea whether days or just a few moments had passed. In this absolute darkness, she lost all sense of time. However, what she perceived very clearly was infinite thirst and human needs. Still, her pride kept her from worse. But she was already beginning to wonder how long she would be able to endure this.

It did not surprise her that her eyes felt painfully blinded when the heavy door opened and a person with a torch appeared. It was neither Joséphine nor one of the girls. One of the guards entered the room while two others secured the door. One of the two at the door drew his pistol, charged, released, and pointed the barrel at Adeláire. Stubbornly she raised her chin and started the attempt to stare down his fixing gaze. Unsuccessful. The torch guard left them in a holder before he approached her.  "So my pretty, we'll facilitate your situation a little bit now. But only if you cooperate. A wrong move or the slightest indication of attempting to escape and my buddy back there will shoot you down without warning."

Adeláire averted her gaze from the pistol barrel and turned to the speaker.  "I doubt you have permission to shoot me like that. There is an agreement. And Joséphine knows exactly what will happen if she breaks it. So do not try to talk big so much here, Conard[1]."

She could have guessed that this insult would not be without consequences. However, her ears rang as his back of the hand pervade and left her cheek burning.

"You are the one here who is not in the position to talk big. And if you continue like this, you will stand on this wall for another night. Your choice."

Adeláire looked up at the guard and could feel the green burning and poisoning. But she was silent. For now.

Which gave her a nasty grin on the guard, while he now clearly ludicrous mustered her.  "Too bad that Madame Bonaparte has banned everything that could be a bit fun with you. Absolute waste. What do you guys think?" He did not even look at his buddies in the back. Adeláire made sure briefly that the pistol barrel was still where she had last found it. Sighing resignedly, she had to admit that the prospects of using the situation for herself here did not go so well.

"Hurry up, Pierre. We have other things to do. And besides, she would bite off your cock before you even have a minute of fun with her. So, let's get out of here. Otherwise, the best pieces of lunch are already gone."

The guard standing next to her watched Adeláire again from top to bottom and finally shrugged.  "You are right. I'm more into blonde hair anyway.”

Whereupon he began to open her handcuffs and then gave her a rough nudge that caused Adeláire to stumble after hours standing against the wall. Her weight landed on her cracked ankle and she collapsed. Only a grip on the chains saved her from sinking completely to her knees before the guards. Inwardly, her burning rage and arrogant pride helped. She would not begrudge them this triumph.

Another nudge pushed her toward a barred door, which the guard unlocked and invited her with a mocking gallant gesture. Adeláire could not recognize much. Only when the guard took the torch again and put a pitcher, cup and some food on the table for her, Adeláire looked around. Apparently Joséphine was serious about not letting her die. There was no bed, just a sack full of straw. And for relief, a bucket stood in one of the corners. Sighing softly, Adelaire flinched as the door closed behind her.

"Make yourself comfortable sweetheart. You will not see the light of day again so soon."

The Assassin fought the urge to look back at the nauseating guard.  Thirsty and hungry, she lunged for the food.  After using the bucket, she finally sank into the straw sack, sighing. Despite aching bones and uncomfortable underlay, she finally fell into a deep sleep, hoping to gather enough strength for what was yet to come.

If she had had the slightest premonition of the coming events, she would not have been able to sleep so easily.

  

„“ ----------------- „“

 

As soon as he woke up, Arno groaned and moaned as his back vehemently protested against any movement. It took him a while to persuade his muscles to cooperate and to lift himself up. Cursing softly, he finally swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stroked the tangled hair from his forehead. Tired, he felt the scratching of the beard stubbles that had become too long as he glanced over at his friend in the other bed.

Verne was still sound asleep. Apparently, the healer had given him some anesthetic drugs, so he did not get up too early. Arno nodded as if to himself before rising up, heavy and tedious, from the bed. Slipping on the shirt almost forced him to sink back onto the bed‘s edge. Growling, he gritted his teeth and cursed the slowness of his movements. It would take days to return to his normal shape.

Carefully, he set out to descend the stairs to the lower floor. His stomach growled loudly when he was greeted by a clear smell of food. Once down there, he found only the healer stirring a rustic stew over the fire.

"Bonjour, Madame“, Arno greeted with a slight tilt of the head.

"Bonjour ... mon frère“, she replied as she straightened from the stooped posture and wiped her hands on the apron.

Arno blinked in surprise. And yet, he could have guessed that his brothers would not deliver him and Verne in just some strange house. Friends of the Brotherhood were really everywhere. He was used to this mainly in Paris, where it happened a few times before he was eventually greeted by name on every corner.

"Sorry, I did not know..."

"...that you are in a Brotherhood Safehouse? How could you. Yesterday was not the time to explain this. But rest assured, you are in no danger.  Such things..." she pointed in the direction of his back,"...will not happen here."

Arno just nodded silently and bowed his head again thankfully.  "Merci, Madame."

She nodded silently as well.  "De rien. Now let me take a look at that again."

Whereupon Arno began the cumbersome process of peeling himself again out of the shirt, accompanied by one or the other quiet curse. Patiently the healer waited until he had made himself comfortable astride a chair again.

Gently and carefully, she palpated the fresh scars.  “Unfortunately, you will definitely be left with signs of this treatment. Especially two of the welts were already quite deep. Sadly, that can’t be prevented."

Arno felt his jaw clench whether the memory of those to whom he owed this. He clearly heard the growl in his voice.  "That’s all right. You have done what you have been able to do. I thank you for that. And the rest, well, will make me remember for a while who I still have to drive a blade into a throat."

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder.  "You have my blessing." A short silence followed. "Even if the Council will see it quite differently."

Arno felt his shoulder stiffen under her delicate hand and he started to rise.  "I am still exiled from the Brotherhood. I do not have to give an account to the council."

The gentle hand stayed where it was and held him in the chair.  "I know... Arno... But be careful not to drag your brothers too much into some abyss with you."

He felt a muscle twitch in his facial expressions before he half-turned his gaze to her. "Merci, Madame. I'll keep that in mind." There were so many more words on his tongue that he was trying hard to pinch. He was all the more relieved when LaHache pushed the door open and, with both arms balancing a large stack of firewood, entered the house.  "Ahh, our soft-tapped something is awake. Very nice."

Arno and the healer cast sour-eyed glances at him, while LaHache let the wood crash down in the designated spot.

He grinned broadly through his beard.  "Too early for jokes?"

Neither of them answered, Arno got up groaning from the chair.

"Alright, ok. I apologize. Tell me when the tense phase is over." The older man steered toward the table, poured some of the coffee, which was steaming in a jug, and finally turned one of the chairs to his favorite position.

"Arno, you should have something to eat before you rush back to something breakneck.”  She put a plate of bread, sausage, and cheese in front of his nose and demonstratively adjusted the just left chair. Sighing, Arno let himself sink back on it and again took up the challenge to put on his shirt. LaHache watched him silently. He knew Arno well enough to know how hostile he sometimes could respond to help he deemed inappropriate. Silently, he poured his younger friend a cup of coffee as well and waited for him that he decided to talk.

"Verne is still asleep. He seems to be feeling better,” Arno mumbled thoughtfully.

LaHache nodded silently.  "You should freshen up before we leave. I put together some food. Do you think you can manage one, two nights in the open?"

Arno chewed and took a sip of coffee.  "Got to. I... I can’t leave her… alone..." His throat closed briefly, and his hands clenched into fists. LaHache was silent for a moment before responding.

"You and the women you let in your heart. You're really an unlucky fellow regarding that." LaHache's voice sounded neither mocking nor accusing. He had a calm and understanding tone, as Arno would never have thought possible of Jean. Silently, the two men finished the small breakfast.

After all, LaHache was the first to rise. He searched the chests scattered throughout the room and seemed to find what he was looking for. Still silent, he finally put complete gear in front of Arno on the table. At the top even, a hidden blade including phantombow construction.

"Like now you can’t run around outside. What should one think about us Assassins?" This time the tone was clearly teasing.

This made Arno smile.  "Thank you, Jean... honestly..."

The older man nodded shortly down to him.  "Come on, get ready. The morning is already well advanced."

Arno got up and made his way upstairs. As expected, the freshening was more complicated and took longer than usual. But then he had the feeling that his head had become a little clearer as well. In fact, the equipment on the fresh welts hurt, but nothing in the world would make him want to go without it. Although the coat was not his and the rapier felt strange, as well as the gun. But when he applied the blade, he finally felt like what he was: an Assassin.

"Very good, you're done. The horses are saddled and ready to leave." LaHache's voice blew in from the door, and Arno nodded silently as he tested the blade off and on again. How much he had missed this metallic sound, he realized just then. With a determined tightening of his shoulders, he pulled his hood to his forehead and turned to go with his friend.

 

Arno and LaHache resumed the camp, which the latter had pitched with Francesco. They still did not relieve the horses of saddles and bridles if they needed them ready for use. After stowing their things, Arno looked around.

"The estate is in that direction,” LaHache said, pointing. He squatted beside the extinguished fire and began to prepare it for later. Arno nodded silently and rubbed his sore, left wrist. Blade and glove scoured, but like hell he would get rid of both.

Seeking, his eyes glanced over the surroundings. Finally he came to a decision and climbed one of the trees near the camp. His back ached horribly and his muscles protested, but he forced himself to grab one branch after the next. And he was right. Once at the top he could see the estate through the trees. They were closer to the outside fence than Arno had suspected.

Examining, he tried to find a comfortable seat to some degree in the branches. He intended to start exercising his senses up here. Perhaps it facilitated the project, if he at least had eye contact with the target. He tried to banish the quiet, pessimistic, doubting voice in his head. He settled in and began to concentrate.

What he anticipated to happen, happened. In his usual radius he could perceive everything that happened at a great distance from him. He saw and felt the guards patrolling the gardens. But his outspread senses did not even scratch the exterior of the villa. He held the Pulse upright, trying to force it to spread out with his sheer willpower. Only when he felt like it was about to blow his head off did he take a break. Sighing softly, he rubbed his forehead and gently changed his position. This would be a damn long day.

It was already dark when Arno finally resigned to take a break for the time being and carefully climbed down the tree again. If he were not injured, he would simply have taken the leap and rolled away elegantly. But the very thought of it made his back hurt.

LaHache kept the campfire small and covered the flame with his broad back. Something told Arno, however, that Joséphine knew well that they would not move too far from the estate. It tingled between his shoulder blades and it felt like a thousand eyes lurking in the darkness. Did their victims always feel that way just before they put a hidden blade in their throats?

"And?” LaHache inquired simply.

Arno sighed and sat down by the fire, silently shaking his head. "Nothing. I just do not have enough reach. Is it possible to get closer to the house somewhere?" He took some of the warmed-up stew.

"No, unfortunately not. Francesco and I completely rode off the fence when we arrived here. As if drawn with a compass, the distances are the same everywhere." Depressed silence set in between the two men.

"Do you know why your gift is better and stronger today than it was back then?" LaHache handed him a bottle of schnapps, from which Arno gratefully took a deep draft.

"No, not the slightest idea. If you remember, no one could ever really say or explain something about this strange ability. The libraries always said that many assassins were known over the centuries to have such abilities. But where they come from or how to influence them, nothing could be found about that."

LaHache chewed on a piece of sausage.  "Mm, I remember. At the time, you crowned quite nicely that even Mentor Auditore and La-Ahad had this gift. And you made guesses if you're descended from them in a long line of ancestors."

Arno pushed the hood of the foreign assassin's coat in the neck and massaged it, embarrassed. Until finally he rested his elbows on his knees and gazed thoughtfully into the flames.  "I said and did some very stupid things back then." The silence between the two men expanded. "Sometimes I still wonder if the disasters were not even more… drastic… than they already had been." Flaming red hair smeared with blood spread out on a stone floor buzzed in front of his inner eye. Arno swallowed the lump in his throat and rubbed his eyes wearily.

"You should rest. I'll take the first watch."

Arno shook his head silently.  "I have to get this done. And as fast as possible."

LaHache's broad hand lay down on his forearm and the distinct pressure forced the younger one to turn his gaze to him.  "You're no use to us… nor to her… when you're so exhausted you topple from the tree and break your neck. So, lie down for two or three hours. I’ll wake you up. And then you can go on with… whatever you are doing...” A grin flickered over the older Assassin's facial expressions, and Arno smiled back and nodded.

"All right then. But really… only two, three hours. I do not want to leave her in the feeling of being on her own for longer than necessary." Tired, Arno rubbed his forehead. "Even if I can’t really reach her."

LaHache nodded and threw a log on the fire, while Arno stretched out on one of the beds.  "Oh, Dorian, before I forget again..." Before Arno could close his eyes, he braced himself on one elbow and caught the object which LaHache threw at him. The familiar shape of his father's pocket watch snuggled into his palm. As always, he gently actuated the opening mechanism and stared in the flickering of the fire at the clock stopped to the eternal at the time of death.

"Was a good idea not to take it with you. Otherwise, she would probably be lost now."

Arno swallowed hard on Jean‘s again surprisingly sensitive words and nodded silently. Wordlessly, he stowed the watch in his coat and finally stretched out on the bed.

In his restless dreams, red hair mixed with brown-reddish and gray-blue eyes with deep green. As different as they were, their passionate fire, with which they sought to intervene in fortunes, was very much like each other. Was this what always attracted him magically to such women? Arno decided to think about it another time.

Though if he knew the events that would unfold, he wouldn’t have wasted his time on something so trivial as sleep.

 

„“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire awoke from her deadlike sleep as a heavy key turned in the lock of her cell door and the bright light of a torch ate the darkness. Protecting, she raised a hand over her eyes and squinted into the twilight.

"Get up pretty. You are expected,“ said one of the guards while the other put something on the table, which looked like a meager breakfast.

With difficulty she scrambled to her feet and hobbled over to the table, sparing her injured ankle. The guards only treated her with a few bites of bread and cheese before each grabbing one of her upper arms. Handcuffs they did not seem to want to put on her. Well, maybe that opened up certain possibilities.

Adeláire, however, soon had to bury her recent budding hope soon enough when she was escorted to the room where she had last seen her two brothers. Joséphine, Genevieve and Constanze were already waiting for her. The former turned to her with a smug smile as she entered.  "Ah, there is our illustrious guest. I hope you have taken the time to recover a little, my dear."

Adeláire saved an answer and pinched her lips doggedly, which once again led Joséphine to that viper-like smile.

"Believe me, it will be my pleasure to break that stubborn silence. And I will, rely on it." A nod to the guards and Adeláire was led to one of the tables in the room. With a significant nudge they gave her to understand that she should probably stretch out on it. Dozens of scenarios that might well follow this "wish" shot through her mind. None of them pleased her.

As fast as lightning her eyes slid through the room, she sent her senses to make a decision. She knew her chances were more than bad. But she would not give up without a fight. In a fraction of a second, her left elbow rammed into the guard's face, then she dropped into a squat and with a circling around her own axis swept the legs of the second guard under his body. Her ankle ached like hell, but she forced herself up and put on an elegant slide across the table. In the middle of the jump she heard the hissing of the whip, but was too unprepared to counteract the result. The tail wrapped relentlessly around her throat and tore her in the middle of the movement that she crashed her back hard on the table. More than a choking, breathless gasp did not escape her throat. The pain brought tears to her eyes. Grimly suppressing that, she desperately tried to get rid oft he choke around her neck. Her resistance stopped when a third guard approached her and his fist crashed into her temple. Stars danced again in front of Adeláire's eyes, and she felt herself sagging limply.

"Why do you Assassins always have to make it so difficult for yourself?" Still stars danced in front of Adeláires eyes and she blinked hard to make out more than shadows. She sought strength to be able to face what has just happened. But her treacherous body failed her. She felt helplessly as hands and ankles were laid in iron and she lay stretched out on the back on the table. Why did she just feel that this here would not end well?

"So my dear, do not panic. As promised to your bed companion, we will let you live." Adeláire heard only by the steps that Joséphine rounded the table. "However, we did not promise him not to arch your little hairs." The helpless Assassin could smell the perfume of her jailer as she leaned over her and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "And I'm so sorry, but that's exactly what we'll have to do here and now."

Adeláire slowly regained her sight, fixing the face in front of her eyes floating over her face. With a stinging curse, she braced herself against the shackles, only to find that this helped next to nothing. The more she shamed the mocking smile of her counterpart.

"Defend yourself...", again, Joséphine leaned over her and something ugly dangerous urged through her features, "…as long as you still can..."

She stepped back from the table and nodded at Genevieve and Constanze. They immediately started building strange equipment right and left of the table. With a steadily growing, threatening feeling, Adeláire watched the proceedings, wishing nothing more than a breakneck rescue operation. But as expected, everything remained silent, no smoke filled the corridors, no combat noise reached her ears. And as sharp needles penetrated her skin and were driven into her veins, she bit back adamantly every sound of pain. With senseless strength Adeláire tried to fight against further torture, unsuccessfully.

"Strap her tighter on the table. The remedies must not be wasted by demolishing or destroying the inlets." Said, done. Genevieve and Constanze tied the Assassin, struggling like a snarling cat, more and more motionless to the table until it was almost hard to breathe. Eventually even Adelàire's head was fixed, and with a good deal of hopelessness and a silent plea to whatever higher power may be listening, she closed her eyes.

"Everything‘s ready."

"Good, then let’s begin."

Adeláire's eyes searched, what those were able to reach. She watched as Genevieve and Constanze spun and operated threads at the apparatuses. Liquids twined through glass pipes, moving serpentine toward the needles that anchored deep in her arms. She had been able to pull herself together when these were forced into her skin, this was no longer possible as the liquids began to flood her veins. The burning under her skin seemed to tear her to shreds and no mastery of the world could hold back her tormented screaming.

Adeláire felt tears streaming down her cheeks unabated, and her screams of pain gradually cost her the voice until only a hoarse moan remained. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, and it felt like her inward was turning to the outside. What are these witches doing with her?

"What do you think, is it enough?"

Adeláire sensed more than she saw the three torturers gather around the table.

"Hm, let's try it."

The Assassin's gaze wandered as far as possible. Genevieve and Constanze were waiting to the side of the table while Joséphine approached the table. A glistening, golden light suddenly filled the view that Adeláire's eyes were once again squinting. She felt something touch her vertex as Joséphine put her hands to her temples.

"Who are you? Tell us your name." Joséphine's voice in her ear sounded like a summoning rite.

"You... know my name..." Adeláire gasped hoarsely.

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

Adelaire breathed heavily and tried to stir in the shackles. Once again a shriek of pain escaped her as a sensation penetrated her head, as if someone were tearing her skull. She reared up in the shackles, uncontrolled and knowing that it did not help anything at all.

"Who are you? Show yourself! I know you're here!" Joséphine's voice was unyielding, and that pungent, drifting, nagging feeling in Adeláire's head seemed to want to penetrate deeper and deeper. For now, she was no longer capable of giving any reasonably articulated answer.

"Show yourself... Assassin... I know you're here. You see everything. You hear everything. You feel everything. Let it end. Show yourself and tell us your name."

Adeláire's mind had not the slightest idea whereupon Joséphine wanted to go. Her thinking, feeling, being was only a single pain. And not even unconsciousness was granted to her. At Joséphine's nod, liquid spurted through her veins again, leaving the Assassin panting, trembling, writhing.

 

Adeláire lost all sense of time. She registered blurry that she were left alone. Apparently gave her time to rest and allowed her to regain strength. They washed and fed her. But unlatching her from the table did not seem to be an option.

At regular intervals, one of the three tormentors returned. But they always checked only the equipment and if the needles were still in place. A new inquiry was not conducted.

Adeláire did not even know how much time had passed before all three returned together. As with the first interrogation, they took their positions and their victim tensed in the shackles in anticipation of what would follow.

And she was right. Again, this pain pierced her head and seemed to want to tear it. Shivering, Adeláire did not have much left to counter that.

"Show yourself! Name us your name!" A haunting, deep, golden drill in her head, which Adeláire went through to the core. She felt something break inside her and she collapsed in the shackles.

 

_"Bishop! Abort, stop! Get her out of there!"_

_"Damn... Initiate... what happened?"_

_"I don’t know. But they will find her. If they continue like this, they will find US. No idea what's going on. But they are hot on our heels. Bishop, get her out of there!"_

_"Cancel sequence. Shut down the Animus. We have to risk it."_

_"Ava, can you hear us? Ava?!"_

_"Initiate, how is she? Is she safe and sound?"_

_"I do not know Bishop. She is unconscious. She has got all the pain of her ancestor. No idea what she had to endure back then. But that seems to have been pretty tough stuff."_

_"Alright, take care of her. And brief me as soon as she wakes up. I want to know what happened there and what Joséphine did to her."_

_"Bishop, it seemed to me that Joséphine was looking for Ava. And for us. As if she knew that Ava is in her ancestor and lives their memory. But ... how can that be?"_

_"I do not know Initiate. That's exactly what we have to find out.”_

 

Joséphine's fist crashed down on the table next to Adeláire's head with a frustrated sound. The golden glow disappeared, and she rose from her chair.  "Damn it! She is gone. I was so close."

"Did you see a place, a time... or a face?" Genevieve's voice sounded cautious.

"No, nothing like that. They seem to have pulled the plug before I could reach her." Silence returned, during which the three women, who apparently had some knowledge no one should own at the end of the 18th century, looked down at the unconscious assassin.  "Take care of her. Turn the dose down a bit so it will not kill her. And then we'll try again tomorrow."

Silent nod of the two girls.

Then, Constance spoke, "The Assassins are expecting her first letter soon."

Joséphine stopped walking and half turned back to Constanze.  "Well, then I hope you have become perfect in her handwriting now, my love." A dangerous smile played around the corners of her mouth. "We do not want to keep the poor, amorous jerk waiting unnecessarily." A soft laugh followed her as she climbed the steps to the light.

 

 

\------------------------------

[1] french. for „Dumbass“

 

 


	16. Break apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adeláire is trapped, Verne injured and Arno tries to expand the reach of his gift.  
> No new plans are showing up. And Adeláire's first letter is kind of... akquard.  
> Everything seems stuck in a corner and hopeless.  
> But there is no way an Assassin give up on his task. Never.  
> Even not, then there seem to be some kind of witchcraft included.
> 
> For all Modern Day / ISU Lovers:  
> I'm pulling everything out of the word Fan "FICTION".  
> I'll try to stay in line with the things we know about ISU Stuff. But i take my freedom to play around with my own ideas.  
> And it's goin to be really crazy... because, i'm as well... ^^

\----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 _\-------_

 

Arno had spotted the delegation for a long time before it even came close to the gate. With a faint whistle he caught LaHache's attention and hinted that they were visited. Jean merely nodded briefly and pulled his hood over his forehead. He grabbed his always present ax, but did not stow it in the back holder. He turned resolutely toward the road, while Arno remained in his position in the tree. The training of his senses had not really taken him one step further, but from up here he definitely had a better overview.

His eyes narrowed dimly as he realized that one of the persons was Genevieve, whose handiwork he could still feel clearly on his back. Silently, like the proverbial shadows around him, he watched as she strode toward the gate with the two guards, and shortly behind that openly stopped in the middle of the way. She proudly upraised her head and looked around searching.

"Assassins, show yourself! We know you are here. And we're here to fulfill your condition." Her voice was firm and not in the least uncertain. Arno felt blind anger begin to rise in him. Still dumb and dwelling in the shadows, he waited and watched LaHache as he stepped out of the thick shrubs along the way.

Silently, the four people faced each other. LaHache with lowered, drawn ax, causing the two guards to tighten their halberds and go into a slight defensive posture.

Genévieve just smiled sweetly.  "Well, I suppose you belong to our dearest beautiful boy, with whose back I had the honor a few days ago."

Arno felt his hands clench into fists in sheer will, not to jump down into the group in a flash of anger and to drive his blade into her throat. With clenched teeth, he watched LaHache, who for his part turned his head briefly and plainly into Arno's direction.

"You suspect correct, ma belle. So, you have something for us?" LaHache's voice rumbled softly. But Arno guessed that this would only be noticed by people who knew him quite well. Genévieve, on the other hand, merely stepped towards the Assassins with swinging skirts and continued to smile sweetly.

"Yes, I think I have. But I was told to give it to him personally. So be a nice Assassin and bring your friend here." During her speech, she had let playful fingertips wander up over LaHache's chest to his, as always very casually bound, Cravate. At which she tugged briefly, before she turned away from him with a wicked smile and went back to the guards.

LaHache showed no reaction to this provocation. Arno spread his senses one last time to make sure no more guards were in any ambush. A quick glance at LaHache assured him what he already knew. He recognized the tighter fingers around the handle of the ax and it hardly needed the short whistle anymore. He swung smoothly from his elevated position and sank into an elegant, cushioning squat, just behind the two guards. As he rose, his outgoing blade made an aggressive sound. It was only that sound that made the guards aware of him. With dreaded, surprised sounds, they backed away from him, and Arno enjoyed the moment in which he loomed over the dainty Genevieve. The brief flicker of fear in her gaze gave him an inner satisfaction he had sorely missed in the last few days.

Unfortunately, this fear disappeared all too quickly and gave way to a cattily provoking twinkling. With raised hand she held back the two guards, who remained in attack positions. With a smooth sound, the blade disappeared into the bracer, tempting Genévieve to an amused smirk. Similar to LaHache previously she approached him, letting fingertips pass over his chest.

"Uh I admit, I have missed you... my dear..."

Arno tilted his chin down to her with a barely noticeable movement and lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "Take... your hands... away..."

Genevieve smiled sweetly up at him.  "And what if not? Will you kill me then?”

Arno merely replied that smile with a gentle move around the corner of his mouth. He knew that this behavior had something dangerous about it.  "That would be way too fast and merciful for you."  He thought for a moment.  "And I do not want to share any of your memories. Such poison should not be given to anyone."

Contrary to his expectations, these words actually made her stop with her harassment and take a step back from him. But not without eying him once again lasciviously from top to bottom and back.

"We two could have had so much fun. But no." A muted sigh until she finally conjured a letter from her décolleté.  "I think that's what you're more interested in. Rest assured that we abide by our agreement. And you should do that better too. There's nothing quicker done than slitting someone's throat."  A smile once more coquettishly played.  "But you Assassins have more presentiment about that than we ordinary mortals, isn’t that true?"

Arno remained silent on this statement and just stretched out his arm to take the letter. For whatever reason, be it  nervousness or exaggerated duty, the guard to Arno’s left gave a warning call and launched an attack. In a fraction of an instant, the Assassin raked out the blade again, spinning around his own axis and slashed the assailant's throat in deadly elegance. While still in action, Arno heard the sound of a fired phantom blade. When he turned back to Genevieve, the second guard collapsed just like a wet sack.

Arno knew pretty well that his appearance had just gained some somberness. Menacing, with his blade extended and his fists clenched, he approached Genevieve, who backed away from him until LaHache in her back stopped her.

Arno's voice rumbled as he spoke to her.  "Next time, we will not let you get away so cheaply. And if you really plan to eliminate us on such a transfer..." he smiled maliciously, "... select more capable men. Otherwise you just insult us."

The poison in Genevieve's eyes confirmed Arno's guess. This action was planned and, to her regret, gone miserably wrong. Presumably she scolded herself that the Assassins were now warned and that further actions of this kind might be difficult. Arno kept in mind that they should soon make sure that they reinforced their post. With a harsh gesture, he finally snatched the letter from Genevieve and turned to walk past her with LaHache.

"You should think carefully about who you are threatening, Assassins. This game is too big for you!"

The look he and LaHache exchanged on these words reminded Arno of their mission back then in the Bastille. Both briefly lifted one corner of the mouth before disappearing into the shadows separately.

 

Arriving at the camp, Arno traced the feeling of helpless anger within. For a moment he closed his eyes and clenched his fists to open them consciously. He repeated this several times combined with deep, controlled breaths. He could feel LaHache left matters to him and just set his Ax aside. When he finally spoke, Jean's voice sounded similarly controlled furiously, as probably his own.

"These women are real beasts. I just hope they do not cause any more misconduct with the girl in there."

Arno just left that unchallenged in the room. He tried to drown out the cramping of his heart and the short stifling of the breath, turning his attention to the letter. Carefully unfolding, his eyes wandered over the words that looked like Adeláire's handwriting. But the words did not seem right to him. He frowned and read the few lines again.

_"My dear Arno,_   
_As promised, I can write a few lines and assure you that I'm fine. I am fed and no further harm was done to me. These lines thus prove to you that I am alive and hopefully this will stay, as long as you keep to the agreement with Joséphine. What I would like to hereby ask you earnestly again._   
_Dearest, do nothing to endanger this. Let time pass and the faster I can return into your arms and leave all this behind. Never forget, I love you._   
_Adeláire“_

LaHache seemed to have noticed his silence and the frown as he spoke again. "Arno, what's the matter? Is something wrong with the letter?"

Thoughtful and still frowning, Arno shoved his hood back and weighed the letter in his hand. Finally his eyes met those of the elder.  "It's her signature. But not her way of expressing herself."

Now it was LaHache's turn to frown confusedly.  "What do you mean?"

Arno started to pace up and down. "We have never talked about feelings for each other. Even if I feel that they seem to be quite… intense for her part." The soft laugh of his friend did not interrupt Arno’s thoughtful wandering. "I do not know Adeláire well enough to know if such a situation as the current one would lead her to reveal herself in a letter." Arno paused and fixed LaHache. "She has not even ever talked about her feelings. Not to mention that she never admitted love to me. Why should she suddenly do so in a letter? "

LaHache met his gaze and chewed on a blade of grass.  "Do not look at me. I know her even less than you do."  He spit out the blade of grass.  "Maybe you should talk about that with Verne. I think he knows her best next to Francesco."

Arno nodded silently.  "You're right. Stay here, I'll be back soon." He did not even wait for the confirming, silent nod of his friend and turned to the horses.

 

The ride was short and keenly, so it was not long before Arno, taking two steps at a time, was heading for the room in which he had left Verne a few days earlier. It made him all the more astonished when he found the bed empty. Voices came up to him from outside and he went to one of the windows. He smiled and watched a Verne, flirting with the lady of the house, taking a walk through the kitchen garden.

"Old Hallodri," Arno muttered under his breath, before heading down the stairs and out again.

"Nice to find you in good health and chipper. You seem to be your old self again,” Arno finally teased, as he confronted the couple. Relieved, he registered his friend's healthy complexion and his flashing cheeky grin.

"The same could be said about you, my friend. You have not been here for a while. Poor Madame Grandjust has her hands full entertaining me."

Madam Grandjust showed a hint of blush before she, greeting Arno, said goodbye.

Arno hurriedly approached Verne as he reached out to his side, groaning softly, as if he wanted to collapse in the next moment.

"Can it be that in your flirting mood you may have overdone, my friend?" Arno's tone teased, albeit with a clearly concerned undertone.

Verne smiled weakly.  "All good. Just drop me off somewhere and let me take a deep breath. You're certainly here for a reason, aren‘t you?"

Arno did as he was told, and, supporting Verne, strode toward a bench at the side of the house. Once there, he let the injured brother catch his breath. "Why are you doing this again and again, Verne?"

Vernes played uninvolved mimic appeared, as if he wanted to ignore Arno's question.  "What exactly do you mean?"

Arno crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.  "You know exactly what I mean. Why do you think you still have to hide behind women with these flirtations? You do not need that. You have friends who accept you the way you are. You like men, not women. Fact."  Arno thought for a moment, but decided to pursue the path further.  "And what's even more interesting about your behavior, why does Adeláire not know about it? You two are so close to each other."

Verne raised an aching, offended look full of rage to his friend that made Arno wince guiltily. Had he gone too far?  "Exactly! That's why! Just because we are so close. At the time, I only told you about it to explain to you why I was so… hysterical at the museum mission. If this had not happened, I would not even know if you would have discovered it to this day. But at the time I felt somehow... obliged to."

Arno tried to keep his voice calm, unobtrusive. "Do you trust others... us... Adeláire... so little Verne?"

Verne scuffled his fair hair.  "You can’t understand that, Arno. You never experienced what I experienced. Yes, I've tried so many times to give you and Cesco insights so you understand. But I think that's not something you can simply… explain… somehow."

With a painful sigh, his friend leaned back against the wall behind him, holding his injured side. The look out of bright gray eyes made Arno's heart ache.  "And Adelaire... oh, I do not know. At the beginning, I never thought we would ever be so close. It did not seem important to me that she knew. When her brother died, she sought stability and protection. Which she apparently found with Cesco and me. She became a little sister to me, whom I wanted to protect first and foremost harm and sorrow. And maybe that would lead me to further silence. I just did not want to impose that knowledge on her."

Arno sensed that his friend had not yet reached the end of his words. Smoothly, he squatted and esteemed his averting gaze as he continued.  "At some point it had somehow just crept in that I postponed this conversation to 'later'. And now it is already so late that I do not even know how to start it. How could she do otherwise than ask me the same question of trust? And she had every right to do so. But what should I answer her? Sorry Adeláire, was not meant that way. You're just the first woman I tell, before I cannot run away afterwards?"

Arno imagined a conversation in this way in front of the inner eye and could not prevent the corners of his mouth from smirking. He was not often close to other people and allowed his empathy to let their emotions in. But Verne was one of his longest and best friends.

The look that Verne exchanged with Arno was full of pain and self-doubt. "She's already too important to me to not care if I lose her or not. Despite the experience of my revelation to you and Cesco, I still do not know how she will respond."

Arno felt helpless. He did not come up with anything that could help his friend. Finally, he did what he had actually come for and silently handed him the letter. Keen on the obvious change of topic, Verne breathed heavily and relieved. His friend's reactions to the few lines seemed to be a reflection of himself. Frowning and rereading the words, written in familiar handwriting.

"That does not come from Adeláire. Absolutely no way. She would never write such lines. Let alone to admit her love in such an open and almost offensive way. Love is like the plague to her. You get sick of her and she destroys you slowly but unerringly."  Verne only noticed in retrospect what he had actually said to his friend. Embarrassedly he raised his eyes to Arno.  "I'm sorry, my friend, I did not mean to hurt or shame you. Or to take away your hope for a future together. But it is how it is. Adeláire is quite… difficult when it comes to love."

Arno lowered his eyes, raised and folded again his arms across his chest. Once more he started to wander up and down.  "It would be a lie to say that I would be much easier to handle in this regard."  Verne saved any comment on this statement.  "But I think we should think about that another time. The fact is, these lines are not from Adeláire. It's her handwriting, but not her way of shaping words and phrases. The question remains, how do we deal with this knowledge? Joséphine did not keep our agreement. So we are not bound to ours any more either. Nevertheless, I would not know how to intervene without endangering her life."

Verne leaned against the wall in his back, sighing softly, holding his aching side. His gaze rested on the thoughtful counterpart as he spoke.  "I do not know either, Arno. And I hate that feeling of helplessness just as much as you do. And yet I can’t think of anything reasonable, what we could do. Except… to wait and see."

Arno growled indignantly at Verne's words. He knew only too well that his friend was absolutely right. The situation had changed, and yet not really. Not enough, that they have any new freedom of action. Enervated, he rubbed his wrinkled forehead, only remarking when familiar voices wafted to his ear.

"No one is upstairs, Francesco. The beds are all empty."

"All right, then we'll have to find them. Presumably they are in the camp waiting for news."

Arno frowned. What the hell was Léon doing here? The timbre of his voice probably expressed his rage about it.  "We are here, Cesco!"

It did not last long before Cesco, Léon and one other person walked around the house and found the two waiting Assassins. Léon was about to throw himself into a hug for Arno when he noticed his unamused facial expressions and paused. Francesco skillfully ignored this aura and turned to Verne. A quick nod, a hand on his friend's shoulder, and the "Status Report Recovery" was almost completed. The third person was silently waiting at a reasonable distance.

Arno rise to speak first.  "What the hell is Léon doing here, Cesco?"

Just yonder turned to his brother in peace of mind and showed a relaxed mimic.  "I brought him with me because I believe he can be of great help to us here."  His facial expressions remained blank at his next words.  "And frankly, I do not give a damn if you approve it or not. Léon is a gifted thief and I know you started training him a while ago. So do not come to me with any reservations, as long as you do not know the plan yet."

Arno felt the anger rise again in him. The same as he had felt in his last confrontation with Cesco. Apparently, his friend had not yet calmed down and continued to blame him. Arno felt his facial expression darken.

"Guys, please, can’t you just bury the hatchet for the moment and focus on what might be best for us and Adeláire? Internal quarrel does not really bring us forward,” Verne finally said in a kind of tired tone. He has always been the mediator in the group of the four Assassins.

Arno finally nodded silently, noticing that Cesco was in no way commenting on Verne's objection. He turned questioningly to the third person of the newcomers.  "Please excuse us that you had to witness this. With whom do we have the honor?"

The unknown appeared foreign. Definitely not a Frenchman. The skin was dark, as were the eyes. A thick beard hid much of his facial expressions, as did the bright-natural hood of his robe. It was obvious to Arno that he faced an Assassin brother. But the robe looked as foreign as the rest of the apparition. The bodice was more of a too long shirt and not the familiar vest and coat. Several layers on top of each other, with the upper part decorated with small applications. The long cloak lay turned back over his shoulders, revealing a belt rich in weapons and other useful objects. The saber at his side looked Arabic, as did the pants. Only the usual footwear the stranger seemed to have exchanged for more suitable for France weather conditions. The greeting, which he threw in Arno's direction, seemed as foreign as the whole figure. With a gentle bow, the foreigner touched his chest, lips, and forehead.

"My name is Mu'in ad-Din Ahmad from the Brotherhood of Cairo. I greet you." His accent and voice matched his overall appearance, and Arno returned his greeting gesture with a proper bow.

"Arno Dorian. Pleased to meet you." He did not even try to pronounce the name so unfamiliar to him and his tongue, silently hoping that the necessities of courtesy were adhered enough. The stranger's gentle smile supported his hope.

"I know who you are, Efendim. You are the reason why I am in this country. And I hope you find time for me, my concerns and my thoughts."  The stranger put a hand on his chest and also bowed curtly before Arno. The latter felt it leave him uncomfortable in his skin and he moved his shoulders briefly, and hopefully as inconspicuously as possible.

"Unfortunately, the chosen moment is more than unfavourable, Monsieur. We have to find a way to free a captive sister and..."

"...keep Napoléon from using the artefact. Yes, I know, Efendim. That's why I'm here,” the stranger interrupted. Arno blinked in surprise and felt the discomfort increase.

It was Francesco who finally intervened.  "Perhaps we should all go inside and talk about the passé events. Léon, would you be so nice and ride down the street until you are almost at the border fence of the estate and bring LaHache to us? I think we should be complete to discuss everything else."

Arno was silent on this proposal. He did not know exactly right now what he should think about the latest developments. So he simply tried not to think too much of them. Verne got up without commenting on what was said. When he threatened to stumble, both Arno and Cesco jumped in. In the silent exchange of views, they finally shared the "burden" and strove together into the house. Léon did as he was told and the stranger just followed the group silently. Arno had a dull feeling that this was going to be a very interesting conversation.

 

Arrived at the house initially began a busy life. Each one got rid of his bulkiest weapons and carefully deposited them. Water was put on for coffee and the stew was hung over the fire for heating. Finally, dishes and glasses were distributed and a wine bottle made the rounds. When finally everyone settled down at the table, LaHache was last to enter the room.

"It's almost like coming home," he said cheerfully, before depositing his ax next to the door.

"Then clean your boots and tap the dust off your coat. Otherwise, you will only make unnecessary work for the lady of the house." As always, Verne’s tone sounded mockingly amused. A good sign that he was on the road to recovery. With a nasty hand gesture, Jean again stepped outside, doing as he was told to, finally entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Arno frowned questioningly. "Where is Leon?"

LaHache headed for the table and sat down in one of the chairs. Hungry, he immediately reached for the fresh bread on the table.  "He wanted to look around a bit and then dismantles the most necessary from the camp. He said I should hurry. We have important things to discuss. He’s certain to come."

Arno frowned again. He knew Leon. The boy was up to something. He could only hope that he would not have to get him out of trouble again. When everyone had finally gathered at the table, it was Francesco who spoke.

"Well, the council is aware of what has happened here." Francesco seemed intent on avoiding Arno's gaze. It cost the only paltry older one all the willpower that was available to him to remain calm. "As expected, they are not pleased. Especially not Master Trenet." Was the rhetorical pause deliberately chosen, which he inserted?   "However, they agree with us that we do not have much room for maneuver to free Adeláire from her situation. The highest commandment, as might be expected, is her safety and survival."  With a neutral expression on his face, he finally turned to Arno.  "They have decided that the responsibility for the mission should remain with you."  The hiatus between them continued and both sensed the bitterness in the words before Francesco continued.

"They have agreed to my proposal to take Léon with us to possibly gain access to the property through him. Someone like him is less noticeable and probably not suspected of being an assassin. Rather a common country boy."

Arno clenched his hands into fists and his voice sounded squeezed.  "Does that mean you want to endanger him by sending him into the estate? Are you still at your senses, Cesco?"

Francesco returned the raging blaze of his counterpart with a profound calm. Arno noticed how unpleasantly silent everyone else in the room behaved.

"Speaking of senses, how far have you come in trying to improve yours?"

Arno's eyes darkened even more.  "Do not turn from the topic now. Do you really want to put a child in danger to get Adeláire out of there? Are you sure she would approve that? Not to mention that this really goes a step too far."

Before Francesco could reply, Verne took the floor in the conciliatory attempt. "It may actually be a possibility, Arno. You told us back then how well Léon could take care of himself in Franciade. And that he was able to escape the Raiders again and again. Maybe he will actually find a way in, which is denied to us." 

Arno rubbed his forehead, enervated.  "Yes, Verne, I have. But I also remember quite well that I also told you that they almost killed him had I not randomly turned up there. He is and will remain a child, not an Assassin." 

Silence filled the room before LaHache broke it.  "Well, maybe it's really an advantage that one only see a child in him. The guards on the estate may do the same, and not even bring him to Joséphine. Maybe they just chase him away."  Arno looked around silently and registering in all of them the same conviction.

"To me that's definitely too many 'maybe'. Do we really want to put an innocent in such a danger?"  The silence was lifted this time by the stranger.

"Sorry if I interfere so intrusively, but maybe you should inform those present about the other news. Only with an overall picture can decisions be made about a single action."  The stranger's voice sounded reassuring and apologetic. And the former did not seem to miss its effect. Arno leaned back in his chair, admonishing himself to patience. Francesco just nodded silently and continued.

"Monsieur Ahmad is right. There are news which are either good or bad. Napoléon has left Egypt and is on his way back to France. Where, how and when he will break the blockade, is not yet known. But he left at the end of August and was due to reach the coast at the end of this month, at the beginning of October."

LaHache puffed his cheeks and leaned back in his chair as well.  "On any coast is not very precise."  Francesco shook his head and sipped his wine.

"You're right. But we do not have any more at the moment. The council has sent Assassin’s to the southern shores to reinforce their positions there and to receive immediate information should he be spotted. Nevertheless, both the Council and I believe that it would be good if we intercept him as soon as he enters French territory."  Francesco once again turned his gaze to Arno.  "And for that we'll need you again."

Arno crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his eyes. Thoughtfully, he felt his chin muscles working.  "Understand. However, that would mean giving up the post here and leaving Adeláire alone in the hands of these… witches."  He deliberately did not raise his eyes whether his own uncertainty, which at the moment could be read in it. So the only remaining thing was, to trust his hearing when Francesco's voice penetrated pressed to his ear.

"I know. I do not like it either. But that was not all. Monsieur Ahmad? "

Arno raised his eyes to the stranger, who nodded affirmatively before reaching into one of his pockets and cautiously placing an, for Arno just too familiar, object on the table. Holding his breath, Arno drifted out of his chair and he pushed it aside from the table. His voice sounded aggressive as he addressed the stranger.

"Are you insane to bring this… thing… here? Do you actually know what this is capable of?"  Arno fixed the small, round, gently golden shimmering object on the table again, before he fixed the stranger. He raised his hands placatory and smiled gently.

"Calm down, Efendim. This is by no means the original. Much to my regret, I must admit. We had the opportunity to intensively examine the artifact that you had kindly sent to Cairo and to make an artful copy. The original..." he consciously chose his break; Arno was sure of that. "...is currently owned by Bonaparte. And that with absolute certainty. Which should explain to all those present my residence in their country."

Slowly and frowning, Arno settled back in the chair and reached for the coffee. Somehow, he did not feel like wine at the moment. The situation slowly started to get out of hand. An eloquent silence started in the round.

"Ok, I do not know what such a small, round thing to be able to do. But why is it such a drama that Napoléon has it?"  LaHache's voice sounded confused.

"I think, that should better be explained from Arno. He saw the artifact in action up close."  Verne's voice was tired and he looked pale as Arno raised his eyes up to him and finally nodded silently.

"The original of this artifact has eerie powers, Jean. When I found it in the temple back then, dozens of enemies blocked my way out. Somehow I could activate it and it sent out a kind of… light, which drove my opponents crazy. I could scare dozens without ever having to raise my sword."  Arno turned his gaze to his Assassinbrother, who looked at him incredulously.  "Imagine such an artifact in Napoléon's hands at the head of an army. He would put the enemy to flight without having to fire one cannonball. He would drive them all insane, kill each other. He would be unstoppable in his greed for more and more power."

LaHache was silent for a while, then nodded silently.  "All right, understood. Napoléon and in possession of this artifact, bad thing. So how do we take it off again?"

Francesco sighed softly and rubbed his neck.  "Good question, next question. I think we will have to split up. Two of us stay here and continue to observe the estate, keeping in touch with these women. And the other two ride towards the south coast and try to intercept Bonaparte. It would be ideal if we succeed in exchanging the original for the copy of the artifact. And that unnoticed."

Arno leaned forward thoughtfully and laid his arms folded on the table. His gaze wandered over the audience, before he lowered it, brooding, to the table.  "I think Verne should definitely stay here. For two reasons; He has not quite recovered and he knows Adeláire the best. If another letter arrives from her, he'll be the first to tell if it's real or not."  He looked up at Francesco.  "Besides you, of course, Cesco."

Arno could clearly see the pain in facial expressions and in the look of the other and felt that this was just a reflection of his own. It felt as if Francesco was just as aware of this in the divided moment. His voice was strained at his next question.  "She wrote a letter?"

Arno merely imply a gentle shake of the head as he held his friend's gaze.  "It is her handwriting, but not her words. You will recognize it when you read it. Later."

Another silent nod before Francesco lowered his eyes thoughtfully.  "LaHache should stay here as well. If anything goes wrong, a few muscles could be beneficial."  Francesco's smile at his Assassinbrother was almost lovingly mocking.  "I also brought you a small gift from Paris. Unless Arno agrees."

Surprised, the appealed raised his eyebrows and shared Francesco's briefly flashing grin as their eyes crossed.  "Let me guess, the guillotine shotgun?"

Francesco grinned wider.  "I thought she might be useful out here. Unless you'd like to keep it yourself and withhold it to Jean."

Arno felt the heaviness between him and Francesco seem to lift a little, making it easier to breathe.  "If he can separate himself from his _petit cherie_ , then he should like to have it with my blessing. I'm less likely the right person to be in charge of such heavy weapons."  Arno almost elicited a laugh to observe, how LaHache glanced confusedly between him and Francesco.

"You'll surely enlighten me sometime, right?" grumbled the older Assassin.

"All right, enough of the silly things. I do not think I can last much longer. Let's get back to basics."  Verne's voice sounded painfully squeezed and his complexion became noticeably paler. Arno nodded silently.

"Alright, that means Francesco and I are riding to the coast trying to catch Napoléon as early as possible. Let's just hope he does not send messengers to let his wife know that he's back safely. I would trust him such a move but rather less. He never seemed particularly sentimental. Even though his feelings for Joséphine seemed quite deep."  Arno's mind kept racing while he dropped the comments more like incidentally. His eyes finally fixed the stranger.  "What about you, Monsieur? Did you have any other reasons to come here except to let us know that Napoléon is on his way home?"

The stranger smiled gently, folding his hands together and laying them on the table. His dark gaze returned Arnos.  "I should perhaps explain that in our Brotherhood in Cairo I was responsible for the scientific investigation of artefacts in the nature of this apple. And also with the research of the people who are able to use them."  The dark look became insistent.  "Like I said, Efendim, I’m here for you. The ability to use such artifacts is reserved for very few people. You said earlier that you drove your opponents mad. But you yourself remain completely undisturbed by the effects. In addition, your Council and your friend were so obliging to inform me that you have a very special gift, which is also very rare to find."  A smile brightened his exotically features.  "If you permit, I will ride with you and your friend to the coast and use the time to learn more about you and your gift. And, at best, I can even be of use regarding the replacement of the artifact. Three assassins can finally accomplish more than two. Isn’t that true?"

Arno said nothing and examined the stranger. He did not quite know what he should think of all this. In one way he felt like one of Verne's laboratory subjects, to the other a little hope arose, perhaps through the stranger he actually could learn more about his gift at least. Both, one and the other, did not help much at the moment, so he just nodded silently and turned his attention back to Francesco.

"We should put together provisions and equipment and leave as soon as possible. It's a hard ride lasting several days to the south coast."  Francesco nodded silently and rose from his chair to turn to Verne, who collapsed in his chair next to his brother. Silently he pulled him to his feet to strive with him up.

LaHache grabbed one of the bowls and some bread and headed for the stew over the fire. Arno's eyes wandered from his brothers to the copy of the artefact, which was still laying on the table. Even the copy made his spine run cold with a shudder, before a sudden thought shot through him just as coldly.

"Wait a minute, isn’t Léon supposed to be back? What's the boy doing for so long?" 

LaHache sat back down at the table and dipped the fresh bread in the steaming bowl in front of him.  "Don’t worry so much. The boy is getting along and will surely show up soon."  The older man studied the frowning Arno chewing thoughtfully.  "If it calms you, then ride towards him. But do not complain afterwards about lack of sleep."

Arno half turned to the door, hesitated, feeling his inner indecisiveness. Energetically, he crossed the room and stepped out into the yard. He spread his senses, knowing that he was too far away to even perceive anything. But this procedure had become his second skin over the years.

"It feels strange to be seized by your abilities,” the stranger's voice came to his ear in a calm tone of voice. Politely Arno turned to him.

"I'm sorry if it causes you discomfort. This was not my intention."  The stranger smiled gently, folded his arms behind his back and stepped out beside Arno. His eyes wandered through the darkening night.

"How far does your gift reach? Can you, for example... “  The stranger looked, searching around. At least that's what it seems like until Arno sensed that tingling sensation on his neck. Amazed, he looked again at the stranger, who showed no signs externally that he was doing other than looking around. "...capture that oak back there?"

Arno turned his eyes in the same direction and could see which oak the stranger meant.  "Yes, with ease. It gets more difficult with the edge of the forest."

The stranger nodded silently and Arno could still feel this prickle.  "Was your gift weaker in the past than it is today?"

Arno frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Do you really think that's the right time to talk about such things?"

Ahmad turned to him and a gentle smile flashed through his thick beard.  "Why not? Do we have better things to do right now?"

Arno sighed and circled his shoulders for a moment. Something told him that this promised to be a long night.

 

„“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire awoke from a restless sleep. If one could really call that sleep, what she was capable of accomplishing. Her muscles protested and felt like they were collapsing minute by minute. Her head ached and she was glad for the darkness around her. Light would have stung her eyes like daggers right now. As if out of routine, she twisted her wrists and still felt them in shackles. A soft sigh escaped her lips before resigning and sinking down again. Out of the same routine she spread her senses, not really expecting anything else than the times before: nothing.

But this time she winced in surprise. Had she been able to, her head would surely have flickered in the direction of where something on the edge disturbing her perception. Groaning, the assassin tried to concentrate and purposefully adjust her senses. It was not until the presence approached that she could make out more.

"Pst, Mademoiselle, stay quiet, say nothing. The guards are very close."  The boy's voice sounded familiar to her, but Adeláire felt too sore, too crude to really classify it. She felt him begin to release her shackles.

"Who..." Her voice croaked hoarsely and she barely recognized her. As sore as her body, shredded with pain-filled screams.

"It's me, Léon. I'll get you out of here, Mademoiselle. And then I'll take you back to Arno."  His voice whispered softly beside her as he continued to deal with the shackles. Adeláire felt tears spilling into her eyes at the mention of Arno's name. Silently, her lips formed syllables.

As Léon walked around, he paused haltingly and studied the glassware. "What are they doing here with you, Mademoiselle?"

Adeláire spread her senses as her eyes found it too difficult to focus on anything. She ignored the stinging pain in her head caused by the use of her abilities. Adeláire could see Léon inspecting the tinctures, many of them disappearing into his pockets. He probably wanted to take them with him to find out what this was about. Finally he turned back to the Assassin on the torture table and studied the needles in her arms thoughtfully.

"I... I have no experience with this. And I do not want to hurt you."  Adeláire tried to smile encouragingly as she laboriously lifted one arm and tried to pull one of the needles out of her vein. Groaning and lack of strength, however, she sank back into herself.

"Léon… you have to. Otherwise… all your risk was in vain."  Adeláire wondered again at her voice. She sounded like a grater and her throat ached to squeeze the words out.

Just in the moment, when Léon gave himself a jerk and grabbed her arm, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Léon slipped a 'merde' before looking around wildly. Adeláire felt hopelessness arise in her. And yet there was something burning inside her that made her think of the boy first.

"Hide yourself... cell..." she croaked softly, whereupon Léon disappeared silently like a shadow, as if he had never been there.

Moaning, Adeláire tried to roll over to the side and push herself up off the table. None of her muscles really wanted to bow to her will, and she whispered a silent curse. When she was finally able to swing her legs over the edge, it gave the rest of her body so much movement that she slipped completely off the table. As a result, the needles still in her arms were torn out with a simultaneous jerk. Once again, pain shot through her battered body, causing the assassin to collapse on the floor. Immediately followed by the pain behind her eyelids, as the front door swung open and several torches glistening lit up the room.

"What the hell...” cursed one of the guards.

"How did she manage to untie the shackles?" Asked another.

Creeping Adeláire still tried to find some escape route while she tried to clear the fog in her head to find a solution for Léon. He could not be discovered under any circumstances. She struggled to get to her feet, pulling herself up using the hold on the instrument table.

"She is here. She did not go far." She could feel the guard stepping behind her before a relentless fist buried into her hair and helped her get to the feet. Resigned, it did not even cost her a sigh of pain.

"Well darling, tell us how you managed to escape from your situation?" Adeláire could smell Joséphine's perfume, feel the warmth of her presence, and hear the poison in her voice. She silently let herself be held on her feet and mutely waited for what would happen next. She almost felt the draft earlier than the hand hit her face.

"Look at me when I talk to you!"  Joséphine barked the command, which merely made Adeláire to open her eyes a crack. Only so far as she could see shadows through the painful light. She remained silent on the question.

"Fix her back on the table. And this time, make sure that she cannot escape again. However she may have accomplished that."

Weak as a doll Adeláire let this happen to her. Even if she had wanted, she no longer had any strength to throw at her tormentors. Even the sinking of fresh needles into her arm elicited only a hiss and a sigh. She could hear the guards leave the room and set herself up for another question and answer session.

"Do you want to try again today?"  Genevieve's voice sounded strained.

"She is too weak. It would not make sense. We need her conscious, as well as her descendant to be able to successfully separate them. Only then will we have a chance of a successful takeover." Adeláire did not understand a single word of Joséphine's explanations.

"Actually, why exactly she? Why don’t we continue to infiltrate the Brotherhood through other targets? We've been successful with this approach so far." Constanze wandered through the room during her question, looking for signs of an intruder. Adeláire could only hope that Arno had taught Léon enough so that the boy knew how to hide.

"Because she and Arno will produce descendants. And we all know to which particular one this will lead. And I do not think any of us would want this line to be established. So do not always ask such stupid questions, but find our intruder." The barely concealed annoyance Joséphines was even noticeable for Adeláire. But miraculously, Léon was untraceable for the three women. Frustrated, they gave up after a while, leaving Adeláire alone in the dark again.

It almost made the Assassin breathe a sigh of relief, that she was spared further interviews for the moment. She felt helpless, powerless. Her mind did not understand what happened here. How did the three of them know that she and Arno would have children? Were they some weird kind of witches? And if so, why did they want to aim for her and Arno? Adeláire caught herself silently praying to any gods, to anyone or anything, to be heard.

What she heard instead was a Léon, who sneaked to her side again. He was once again beginning to untie her shackles.

"Léon... Léon... don’t. That makes no sense. You have to go. All this... is far too dangerous." Adeláire merely whispered, hoping the boy was listening to her.

"But... but I can’t just leave you here..." She could hear the horror in his voice and tried a reassuringly smile. Until she realized that it was far too dark for him to identify that.

"Go... Léon... and tell Arno..." She swallowed hard, lost her voice, breathing hard to finally do the only thing that remained to her: keep silent. Neither she, nor Arno would benefit if she confess love in their present situation. Also delivered by a middleman like Léon. She knew it would only be an additional burden for Arno.

"What Mademoiselle? What should I tell him?" the boy quietly asked.

She silently shook her head as best as she could in the shackles. And just as mutely, a single tear ran out of the corner of her eye. She could almost physically feel the boy swallow beside her before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

"We will be back. And we'll get you out of here Mademoiselle. Please... hold on..." He briefly pressed her hand, before he broke away from her. For a long time Adeláire listened intently to the silent darkness, wondering if she could perceive any more of him. Only the sinking into a renewed, unsteady, unrestful sleep kept her from embarrassing emotions.

 

„“ ----------------- „“

 

"Somebody's coming." Ahmad's voice was thoughtful and he closed his eyes for a moment to focus. Arno looked away from the stranger and scanned the dark night. Finally he did it like Ahmad, closing his eyes and concentrating. It took much longer, however, until what Ahmad had felt came within his reach.

"Léon. About time,” Arno grumbled. He decided to wait for the boy until he entered the yard. He had a faint suspicion that the crossed arms and somber facial expressions were the cause of the boy's guilty expression.

"Where have you been? And what did you do again?" Arno said aggressively as Léon approached him around the horse. The sense of guilt began to change clearly in defiance.

"I did what I was asked to do. I invaded the property and found the mademoiselle."

Arno felt himself shocked. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat and he released the entanglement of his arms in front of his chest as he breathlessly asked, "Is she..."

Léon took a step towards him and lifted his hands soothingly.  "She’s alive. She’s doing everything else than well, but she lives." Once again, guilt obscured the boy's features. "It... I'm sorry. I could not free her. She was just... too weak. And there were too many guards. And I almost got caught. And…"

Arno stopped the stuttering flow of the boy, overcoming the distance and pulling him seamlessly into a hug. His right rested on Léon's still slimmer back while the left covered placating the back of his head.

"Sh, calm down. Everything will be alright. Somehow. You did what you could." Arno felt himself only partly believing his own words. But apparently they calmed the boy down a bit, before he broke a little from the hold and looked up at him.

"I took something with me." Horror moved through the young eyes staring up at Arno. "Arno she... they do... some horrible things with her. There were... equipment. And she had needles in her arms." The boy swallowed hard. "And she was as weak as a baby."

Arno silently returned the boy's horrified look and did not know what to say. He could feel his heart ripping and his throat tightening. Carefully he stroked Léon through the hair.

"We... we will find a solution. We... I..." Arno's thoughts raced wildly and confused, unable to take any direction.

"Ah, Léon, very good. Did you find out what happened?" Francesco's voice from the entrance saved Arno from his stuttering helplessness. Hurriedly he let go of the boy and turned away from the light, which flooded behind Francesco from inside the house. Breathless, with an aching heart, he strode one, two steps into the darkness and tried to calm down. He now had to think straight to find a solution.

Listening with only half an ear, Arno noted that Francesco's reaction to Leon's information was as appalled as his own. In contrast to him followed, however, a wild barrage of curses of the roughest sort.

"I've been able to take with me some of the fluids they give her. Does that help anything?" Leon asked, though it was clear he seemed unsettled by his discovery.

Arno was silent. He still felt unable to speak again. Dark swaths swirled before his eyes and it felt like someone was slowly but surely pulling the ground away from under his feet.

"Show... show them Verne. Maybe he can analyze it and find out what that stuff is..." Francesco's voice was rough, tense, and dripping with rage.

Silence returned, interrupted only by Léon, who entered the house, followed by the footsteps of Ahmad, who apparently wanted to leave the two Frenchmen alone for the moment. Arno said nothing. As well as Francesco. Only when footsteps in Arno’s direction in his back raised, he tensed his shoulders, tightened for the supposed, what was approaching him.

He was wrong. Everything he had to face was a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"You know, I once had the hope at the very beginning Ade... she... would eventually fall in love with me." Francesco's voice was soft, squeezed, full of pain.

Arno turned his head and could only vaguely see the face of his friend in the shadows and the backlight.  "I... I'm sorry. I never had the intention..." he stuttered, until Francesco haltingly raised his free hand.

"That was long ago. And you have nothing whatsoever to do with it never coming to that." Francesco dismissed Arno's shoulder and stood by his side, gazing into the darkness of the night. "But maybe it will explain a little more why I was so out of my mind." Arno nodded silently and followed his friend's gaze until he turned to him and urgently sought his eyes. "I can only hope for you that you are serious about her." A short, intense look. "I know you well enough to realize that what you are just ready to let leak out of emotions, is real. And may God grant that you will still be able to let her know and feel that. "

Arno did not know what to say to his friend. Both Francesco as well as he himself, in spite of their close friendship, had never been men who gave up their stance too quickly. But here, at this moment, under the protection of the dark night, they shared a short, strong, male hug.

"We will get her out of there. And we will let those pay, who have done her harm. Credo or not. This has just become personal." Francesco's voice whispered softly to Arno's ear. For a brief moment, the two Assassins looked each other in the eye while holding their arms as if summoning a pact. Which was finally confirmed by mutual, silent nod.

"All right, let's pack up. The day is breaking and we should get on our way. Not that Napoléon lands on the coast without us. "

Arno returned Francesco's slight smile and followed him into the house. Silently, he felt his friend's words linger in him for a long time. And he was right, this was personal. And even if it would forever and permanently exclude him from the Brotherhood, he would take revenge. And he would call it exactly that.

 

„“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire moaned as much too bright light bathed the entire room in glaring brightness. Joséphine, Geneviéve and Constanze brought far more torches this time than usual. They seemed anxious to illuminate even the farthest corner of their prison. Almost, the Assassin felt even more bared than before.

"All right, let's see if we cannot come to a conclusion of our efforts today,” Joséphine said coldly as she approached the headrest of Adeláire’s table.

Narrowing her eyes to slits, Adeláire tried to recognize something. Just to be blinded by the light. Silently and resignedly, she waited to see how things should continue.

"Are we trying to use the tracer today?" Constanze's voice.

"Yes, definitely. First set the dose to small units. We do not have any experience how she reacts to it. Dead, she no longer benefits us." Adeláire could hear how Joséphine got in position near her head. In vain she tried to steel herself against the pain.

The first pain of the evening, however, came again through her veins into her innermost. If the previous substances had already given her the feeling of being pulled off her skin alive, it now felt like it was done in extra small strips. Her muscles were too exhausted to restrain herself in the shackles. Adeláire felt herself only shaking violently.

"The tracer is halfway through. What about the sensitivity?" Constanze again.

Adeláire felt only dull through all the pain of someone approaching her from the opposite direction. She did not know what exactly Geneviéve had done, but it felt like she had reached into her guts with a bare fist to pull everything out. The pain was so intense that it even elicited sounds from her voice.

"Here's our answer. It seems to work great as always. I think we are ready. Jaida?"

Adeláire had no idea who was meant by 'Jaida'. But she felt Joséphine place her hands on her temples, and the next moment the golden light she already knew was ripping her head.

It was different, this time. Somehow ethereal. All the pain suddenly sank into the deepest depths of a dark pit below her. She was floating, weightless. And the belief in her grew that this must be death. How different should it feel? When all the pain, all the suffering, all the agony suddenly fell away and you felt weightless, careless.

Adelaire fell. Gentle, hovering, with light, whispered sighs. Those who grew louder and louder, who tried to drag her out of her carelessness. She curled up like a baby in the womb. She did not want to know anything about it, did not want to get involved. Silently formed a "leave me alone" in her head.

_Fog, Float, Warmth, Light._

„ADELÁIRE!“

Arno! That was Arno's voice! It tore her out of her foetal position and cleared her eyes. The mist around her receded. Paris. Arno, herself, running, pecking over the rooftops of the city. A race. She remembered. This felt like it was ages ago. She followed him, herself. Saw how this race ended in a silent hiding place. They shared a greedy, breathless togetherness.

_Fog, Float, Warmth, Light._

"Scht... rest... it was a long night..."

Arno, whispering, close to her ear. Soft lips on her temple. A blanket that was placed over her. She reached for him, pulling him close. Feeling him nestle around her. Feel his heart beating strong in her back. Feel how he pulled her close. Feel how he transported his feelings without saying a word.

_Fog, Float, Warmth, Light._

"I want you…"

Whispering. Passion. Wild. Playful. Windswept. Warm rain on heated faces. She felt embarrassed, as if she were an uninvited voyeur. And yet, this was her. And him. Together at the highest point of Notre Dame. Below them a Paris shrouded in hazy fog and rain. Self-forgetting sharing, exploring each other.

"Enough of it. That's not what we came for! "

No fog, no light, no warmth. Only one tugging on a leash, which she had not noticed before. Which cut off her air and pulled her with her. Deeper, faster was the fall. Until it was stopped by a hard hit on unyielding ground.

Adeláire's view cleared. Darkness surrounded her, broken by pulsating light, which did good to her sore eyes. The floor reflected her image, the surrounding plain seemed endless.

"Where... where am I..." Her voice was no longer sore. Echoed somehow dull in the endlessness again.

A golden glare tore the darkness like a portal through which a figure materialized. Something about her seemed familiar, and yet not. The clothes were nothing that Adeláire had ever seen in her life before. The dark hair was tied back in a strict braid. Only the poisonous expression of the dark eyes made a connection.

"Joséphine?" The Assassin whispered softly and incredulously.

The figure approached and settled in front of Adeláire in a loose squat. A mocking smile played around the corner of the woman's mouth.  "Not exactly sweetheart. My name is Jaida. And I'm the one who controls Joséphine. And that's exactly what we're going to do to you now."

Adeláire went through it like a shock. She sensed that she was in full possession of her powers in this strange world. Which caused her to jump away from the stranger with an energetic leap. Only to freeze immediately in the movement. Golden glow wrapped her and held her motionless.

"Ah, ah. Not so fast, my love. We still need you."

The stranger named Jaida walked around Adeláire. Her hands glowed golden and as she raised them, the Assassin's figure followed the movement. Sombreness billowed around the stranger.

"Show yourself. You know that you have lost. The shadows are no longer protecting you!"

The golden glow intensified until it forced Adeláire to close her eyes. Thankfully she registered that she did not feel anything. Not even her own heartbeat. What she felt, however, was a tearing, as if her body were being split slowly from the top into two parts. Had her voice obeyed her, she would surely have shrieked with pain. So she just hung silently and trembling in this torture, until an increasing scream reached her ears.

It sounded as if this cry reflected the agony that she herself was unable to voice. When it ended abruptly, it let Adeláire hit on the ground again. Too sore, too drained, that she could have acknowledged that.

"What the devil... who are you? What do you want? And what the hell are you doing?"

Another, unknown voice in Adeláire’s ear. Groaning and firmly closing her eyes to this madness, the Assassin curled up into herself again. Unfortunately, the hands over her ears were not enough to turn off the voices.

"There you are ... Assassin. You have resisted for quite a long time. "

"How is it possible that someone else is here? And... that I am... here. Wherever this 'here' is."

"Oh, this is the so called White Room. I think Bishop will have informed you. If she ever become familiar with it. As far as I'm informed, she was specifically scheduled for the Arno-Project. And his ISU Skills have always been... different, haven’t they?”

"Who are you? And how do you know all this?"

"That, sweetheart, is none of your business. I'll give you the choice. Either, you go by yourself and tell Bishop to keep her hands off this ancestor. "

"Or?"

"Or... I force you to go..."

Adeláire was grateful for the stillness, the silence. She did not understand all this anymore. What happened here? What happened to her? All what she was still able to adhere was a single thought: Arno.

"I stay. Kill me if necessary. But I will not let you have this ancestor without a fight."

A sound like an extending Hidden Blade urged to Adeláire's ears. An Assassin? Who was she? What did she do here? Where was 'here' anyway? Carefully, unobtrusively, Adeláire began to back away from the obvious battle noises. Only with a little distance did she open her eyes and watch a sheer insane scene. The one who called herself Jaida in a wild fight with another person, dressed like her opponent. The surrealism sheer tore the 18th century Assassin mind to pieces. This madness could not be true.

Adeláire realized, even before it happened, when the stranger had lost the fight against Jaida. A dodge, turn and golden glistening hands pushed the stranger back. Afterward, she hovered, wrapped as before Adeláire, in golden wafting mist. Her mouth twisted into a silent scream. A sudden jerk, a dividing gesture, and the figure vanished into nothingness with an audible cry.

Breathe. In. Out. Adeláire felt the trembling of her entire form and a mad laugh wanted to make his way. She went crazy, definitely. All the pain had made her flee to a completely crazy world and played her some curiosity. She was still struggling with this crazy laugh as Jaida approached her, raised her chin and looked her in the eye.

"Ok, she's about to go crazy. Get Cora in here so she can take control. She should first seek a cosy place for this picture of misery."

Golden glowing fingertips touched Adeláire’s forehead and she sank back into comforting, swirling fog.

_Fog, Float, Warmth, Light._

 

 

 


	17. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more calm chapter this time. And a little bit shorter one.  
> Arno and 'Cesco heading their way towards the Southcoast of France and Bonaparte, preparing their meeting.  
> Finally, Arno has the chance to gain more knowledge about his 'gift' and to train it. Will that be enough for the tasks awaiting the group?  
> Some little more Modern Day Stuff as well. Question about that? Just contact me and ask :)

\---------- France, on the road to the south coast, September 1799 _\-----_

 

A deep inhale while Arno listened to the soft, sweet, sighing noises. He enjoyed the way Adeláire reacted to him, the kisses of his lips on her warm skin. He followed the lurching movements of the delicious body beneath him. Could she feel his thieving smile on her belly button? He followed an impulse that he wanted to live out for half an eternity.

He slid out of bed quietly and unobtrusively and sank into a loose squat. Thorough fingertips had already explored the most receptive points. This time he sent other senses on this journey. With satisfaction and an invisible smile, he registered her reaction to this change. Unerringly, he caught her wrists before she could do anything to stop him.

All too quickly and treacherously she gave up and herself up to him. The ladies of the marquis were obviously right. All women seemed to really enjoy that. In addition, her lusty sounds confirmed him. So close and intimate he had been only with Èlise so far. He explored these new experiences with the woman so similar, yet so completely different, with complete peace of mind, until he clearly perceived her tension and trembling. But he was not willing yet to send her over this cliff.

She shuddered and glowed as his gaze sank into hers and he joined her passion. She hungered for his kiss and voluntarily offered her wrists. Since her first encounter, she had again and again found favor with a "lack of self-determination" to some degree.

He had to admit, he enjoyed it very much, as she sighed, whispering his name as they both continued to let themselves go. He barely registered the change until he realized that a piercing cry of his name was tearing the reality apart.

The room around him began to waver and flicker surreal. Terrified, his gaze sought green eyes which looked up at him in agony. Her lips silently formed his name before a piercing scream tore the whine again.

He fell. She fell. An abyss opened up among them. And as if on a roaring sea, it just sucked her out of his arms. Desperately, he tried to hold her wrists. Lost one. He wanted to call her name, but no sound came from his throat. Fearful, green eyes took his field of vision before a violent jolt brutally severed their connection and plunged them into the depths of the nothingness. A last shrill of his name rang in his ears before Arno, with gasping breath from a narrowed chest, came out of the dream.

"Breathe, Arno. There is no danger here." Francesco's calm voice actually helped Arno find his way back to reality a little faster. Groaning, he straightened up completely on the camp, which they had pitched on a reasonably protected forest clearing.

Loosely he bent his legs and laid heavy arms on his knees. Controlled breathing, he rubbed his face with both hands and finally massaged his aching neck. He finally dropped his hands and head, then silently gazed before him. He just could not get rid of the look of her green eyes.

"Seems to have been a real nightmare...?" Francisco inquired quietly.

Arno heard the offer to talk about it and considered to what extent he wanted to use this. He rubbed his neck again.  "I'm used to nightmares. However, this was the first one that did not act of... Élise..."

Silence set in between the two brothers, during which Arno finally stood up and sat down at Francesco's campfire. Fire wood was refilled. Silence was broken only by the crackle of fire and shouts of owls.

As always at such moments Arno reached into his coat and took out his father's still standing idle clock. Silently, he stared at the dial for several moments, frozen in the second as she fell to the floor in Versailles. Still silently, he gently closed the lid and stowed it away safely again.  "What do you think, how many days will we need to get to the coast?"

Francesco looked at his friend and brother silently for a while, obviously not sure if this was really the topic Arno wanted to talk about. Despite his slightly younger age, Francesco still knew exactly when it made sense to follow-up and when not. He knew his brother for too long.  "I think two, a maximum of three days."

Arno left that statement uncommented and stared silently into the fire. Endeavored to make the green vanish before his eyes by the flickering burning of the flames.

"I'll never forgive myself if she does not… survive..."  Arno's voice sounded hollow and dull in his ears. His friend answered with silence, at least for a while before he took up the statement.

"No more than me." Arno clearly noted that ‘Cesco's feelings were indeed similar. Again a kind of guilty conscience overcame him before his friend continued.  "But for the moment we have to focus on other things. Adeláire would do exactly the same thing. And you know that. If she has to go through all that, then at least let it not be in vain."

Arno rubbed his hand across his face and over the once-sprouting beard before nodding affirmatively.  "You're right. Lie down, I'll replace you. It's not long before dawn."

Francesco rose without comment and headed for his own bedstead. The younger one paused with his back turned to the fire and thus also to Arno.  "What do you think, will she ever be the same again?"

Arno felt a nasty sting in his heart at ‘Cesco's question. He felt the grief of his brother as if it were his own. His voice sounded appropriately pressed.  "I… do not know, ‘Cesco. Verne couldn’t say too much about these… drugs they seem to give her before we had to go. We can only hope he finds out what it is. And find something that helps against it."

Arno looked helplessly at his tense back, lit by flickering firelight. The cream coat was dusty, like his own. The strain of the breakneck journey slowly became apparent to them and their gear.

‘Cesco's voice sounded tired as he spoke, not turning to Arno and the fire.  "You know, it was not easy back then. To be born and grow up in the Brotherhood with my bloodline. When Adeláire and her brother joined us, we understood each other from the beginning. Together we bridged the reservations of the others and supported each other. I… never dared to confess, that I felt more for her and could only watch helplessly how she fought with her affairs against any kind of love. Nothing she hates more than dependence. Especially from others."

Arno sensed that ‘Cesco had to speak some kind of pressure from the soul. He silently allowed it and hoped, it would help his friend. Waiting, he let his eyes wander back into the fire while ‘Cesco settled on his camp.

"And the one time dependencies could save her, they fail. I dare not imagine what thoughts she makes all alone in all the days and hours. And I wonder if she'll ever be able to trust us completely again." ‘Cesco's voice was squeezed as he put his weaponries off while talking, loosening his belt and bracer.

Arno piled the fire up.

"Believe me, Cesco, all this… and much more… I ask myself since they forced me to leave that damn cellar. It scares me more than I dare admit, that I seem to be forced again and again to decide between duty and… feeling. I'm beginning to wonder what this life and what a damned fate is trying to tell me."  Arno was silent for a moment to give way to thoughts, to make themselves clearer. And emotions a way to tell him if he wanted to share them with ‘Cesco.  "Sometimes I think it would be better for everyone if I leave the country after all. Settle somewhere in Austria and try to turn my back on all this Assassinlife. Abandon my mistaken belief of responsibility and reparation. And that I am capable of changing or moving something. It brings nothing but suffering to everyone around me."

Again, Arno ran a hand over his face all the way to the neck, sighing and lowering his head. The silence between him and ‘Cesco weighed heavily and he wondered if he had been right to reveal his darkest thoughts to his friend.

"You have constantly and always just tried to do the right thing. Have taken responsibility for things that were out of your power. No one can do something about it, when situations miserably go wrong." ‘Cesco's voice was calm, reassuring.

Arno gave his friend a wry smile. "Like Théroigne's march to Paris?"

Cesco laughed softly. "Will you never let us all forget that disaster?"

Arno chuckled. "Just as my hands and knees will never forget the countless days of scratching candle wax which Bellec imposed on us as a punishment."

"Touché."

Arno turned his eyes to his brother and met a warm resentment and a silent nod before ‘Cesco went to sleep. It was only a few hours until morning and they still had some hard miles ahead of them.

 

Three days later, Arno, Cesco, and the stranger named Mu'in ad-Din Ahmad, who had mostly accompanied them silently and without complaining, rode into Marseille. The city felt like a much too busy hive after the lonely days on the street. There were voices buzzing in the ears everywhere, some in a strange tongue. With the first steps into the city's life one could feel, that the port and the shipping industry set their pace. Overwhelmed, the three newcomers to Marseille dropped off their horses in one of the public stables and looked around searchingly.

"Alright, anyone have any ideas on how to proceed?" Arno dodged a trader who loudly cursed, maneuvering his cart through the street.

Cesco looked up and down the street, searching thoughtfully.  "Hm, we should try to find the resident Assassin's office. There must be some clues so that even brothers can find their own without knowing exactly where to look."

Arno sighed inwardly.  "If Jean were here now, he certainly would have an idea where to start in his hometown."  He felt ‘Cesco's sidelong glance and returned it, as he did with the gentle smile.

"Two old strategists like us will find their way around."  Again ‘Cesco looked up and down and stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "As soon as we have an idea..."

"How about we get an overview from an elevated point first? Is not that  
exactly what makes us Assassins special? That we find ways to the highest peaks of human architecture?" In Ahmad's voice, a little amusement sounded in his suggestion. But neither Arno nor ‘Cesco dismissed this suggestion as stupid.

"He's right, Arno." ‘Cesco continued his searching look around and a grinning smile stole on his face as he found a target.  "And what better way to do that than as with a building called Notre-Dame de la Garde?"  He gave Arno an encouraging nudge with a big grin.

Arno sighed softly and let his gaze wander to the tower which dominated the city in the south.  "And what are you doing for so long?"

"Ahmad and I will ask around in the harbor. I think we will most likely be able to gather information there."  With that, Francesco strapped his gun on his back and adjusted his hood.

Arno nodded silently.  "Well, I think I should have no trouble finding you again. If I do, we'll meet again here in two hours."

Francesco and Ahmad replied the nod.  "Good plan."

Without further words, Arno swung himself up to the next best building and purposefully made his way to the towering tower. The last time he had climbed such a dizzying point was a while back. That must have been in Franciade. He remembered well how he almost missed a hold on the first ascent of the church and slipped. He had not cared back then. Had the trained, knee-jerked grip almost cursed to death. Today things were different. He took a deep breath and scanned the building for a while before he began to search his way.

Arno's muscles moaned and ached. They protested vehemently against this effort, which had not been part of his training for so long. But he pulled himself higher and paused for breath only briefly on the high located platform before he climbed the last few meters to the top. And as always, he enjoyed the view, which could only be enjoyed from such points.

Concentrated, he sent out his senses and paid attention to the unusual. And indeed, something tingled his nerves and it drew his gaze directly under him to the platform on which he had just caught his breath. There was an Assassin emblem clearly shining against. The way reminded him a lot of the puzzles in Franciade and around the key fragments of the Carneillion Chamber.

"Hm, suppose the orientation of the symbol has any meaning?"  He murmured thoughtfully to himself. Seeking, he aligned his senses purposefully in the direction indicated, without success.  "All right, then we'll have to go back to a scavenger hunt again,” he sighed softly, as he carefully started the descent.

Arno stayed on the rooftops and followed slowly and attentively the indicated direction. And finally he found again something on one of the higher roofs. He adjusted his way slightly by the orientation of the symbol, as well as two more times. Until his way finally led him before a massive and defiant-looking facility, which must have been once an ecclesiastical abbey. Based on the guards on the walls, he concluded that this was probably no longer the case.

"It looks more like a prison than anything else,” Arno murmured softly as he glanced resignedly over the smooth walls.

"Because it is a prison indeed, my dear."

Arno turned to Francesco's voice behind him. In his retinue was a new, unknown face, which greeted him with a nod.

"May I introduce Guilloume d'Avignon of the Marseille Brotherhood," Francesco introduced.  "Guilloume, this is Arno Dorian, from Paris just like me."

The newcomer nodded again and bowed politely.  "Welcome to Marseilles. Francesco has already informed me why you are here. Follow me."

The local assassin led them around the defiant abbey to a hidden entrance. A combination of stones in the wall was pushed and a mechanism opened a passage that one would never find without knowing where to look. Darkness enveloped the four men, which were immediately consumed by the light of a lantern.

"Where the hell does the inclination of the Assassin to dark, underground catacomb hideouts come from?” Arno said with amused sarcasm. He was more than slightly reminded of his first arrival at the Sanctuary in Paris. ‘Cesco acknowledged his comment with a noticeable punch on his shoulder.

"Behave yourself. We depend on their help,” ‘Cesco hissed softly.

"Do I ever not behave myself?" Arno said dryly.

That earned him an exasperated snort from his brother.  "Should I really begin to enumerate?"

"Gentlemen... please..." Ahmad's calm voice broke the momentum of the two brothers and made them gather more seriously.

The foreign Assassin led them deeper into the catacombs of the abbey. Similar to the Sanctuary in Paris, they passed through common rooms, training halls and libraries on their way to the heart of the network. It actually felt a bit like they had returned "home". Except that they were not expected from a Council or even a Mentor at the end of their path, just a solely pick ‘n’ mix appearing group of Assassins.  A wiry, tall woman in their ranks raised her eyes as the four of them approached, straightening up from the stoop bent over the table in their midst. With her slightly graying, honey-blonde hair and slightly worn facial features, she reminded Arno a little of Master Trenet. Nevertheless, he joined the polite bow towards the troupe.

"Ah, Guilloume. I suppose these are our guests from Paris?" The voice of the unknown female Assassin was dark and warm, pleasant to the ear.

"You assume correctly Master Duchâump. Francesco Marechal and Arno Dorian from Paris as well as Mu'in ad-Din Ahmad from the Brotherhood of Cairo. They are the ones announced by Paris." Guilloume nodded briefly to the three named before joining the group of the Marseille Brotherhood.

The as Master Duchâump named, hinted with an inviting gesture to join her ranks. Arno was the first who started moving, and immediately scrutinize the papers and cards scattered across the table. He immediately noticed various markings on a map, which he traced thoughtfully with his fingertips hovering over them.

"You've assume right, Monsieur Dorian, this is Bonaparte's itinerary. And I'm afraid we will not be able to offer you our hospitality for too long. Not that we did not want to." She took a little pause for effect to be sure of the attention of the three newcomers.  "Bonaparte landed in Corsica three days ago, in Ajaccio. He is now on his way to the maincoast and is expected to land in Saint-Raphaël around the 8th or 9th of October. So there is not too much time for the exchange of courtesies. "

Arno blinked in astonishment at the mass of information. A side glance at Francesco revealed that he was probably not much different. The latter found his language first.  "How do you know all this? And above all, so fast?"

The foreign female Assassin smiled grinning and invited the three newcomers to a table in the back of the hall. A steaming samovar unusually held coffee instead of tea and thankfully at least Arno was only too happy to have been offered one.

"We do not have the same opportunities here on the coast as in a city like Paris. But that does not mean that we are not resourceful. We still use carrier pigeons between our stations. This methodology has more than proven itself over the years and centuries. Therefore, we also know that the ship that Napoleon uses has Saint-Raphaël as the port of destination. You will need about two days of tight rides to get there. Enough time to rest a little, get equipment up and running and prepare accordingly."

Francesco sighed softly as Arno reveled gleefully in his coffee. It seemed like ages ago that he was allowed to enjoy a really good one. Accordingly, his voice sounded as he spoke.  "We truly thank you sincerely for all your help and support. That brings us a good deal ahead. "

Master Duchâump settled in one of the armchairs and studied Arno intensely as she propped her elbows and loosely folded her hands.  "What Paris did not want… or could not… tell us was the reason why you are so interested in Bonaparte. Forgive me if this question seems too curious, but perhaps you can understand where this interest comes from."

Arno frowned and felt his shoulders tense a little. He exchanged a quick glance with Francesco, who displayed a blank facial expression. Only his long friendship made Arno able to interpret the expression in the dark eyes of his friend. As well as he himself, ‘Cesco neither approved the inquiry.

Arno's tone turned out correspondingly cool as he answered.  "Well, if the Council of the Assassins in Paris did not want to reveal more, then this will probably have its reasons. And since I do not even belong to the Brotherhood in order to keep to the honest facts, I dare not inaugurate more intensively than the Council thought it would be good for everyone involved."

The amused smile on the part of the foreign Master irritated Arno a little. Even more so since his revelation regarding non-affiliation to the Brotherhood did not seem to surprise her in any way. Almost uneasily, he set his coffee cup aside and folded his hands behind his back.

"My curiosity is based on the question to what extent I need to bring you up to date on the developments around Bonaparte. I suspect that you have made a tight ride from Paris to where there was not much time left to get in contact with the people." The older Assassin got up from her chair and also took a coffee.  "Therefore, let it be said that the people do not see Bonaparte's campaign as defeat. Au contraire, they celebrate him as a kind of hero. Some have high hopes in him. Especially in terms of the shattered conditions in Paris and the corrupt  
Directorate."

Arno raised his eyebrows in surprise and did not even have to look at Francesco to know that his brother felt the same way. He therefore left the latter to speak this time.

"Is it just me, or is the Brotherhood here in Marseilles, despite being so far away from Paris, extremely well informed."

Master Duchâump turned to them and sipped her coffee with peace of mind before answering.  "The ignorance and arrogance of the Parisians is anything but unknown to us here on the coast. Therefore, we are by no means affected by it. Our task is to keep our eyes and ears open and to stay on the pulse of the people's will. And that's exactly what we do. And from these means I say to you, think well how you approach Bonaparte. He is now a national hero. And the last thing we Assassins want is to bring up the people against us. Neither here on the coast, nor in Paris."

Due to the calm tone in which the insult was raised, Arno did not even feel anger. Only confusion. The three newcomers exchanged glances again. Neither of them really seemed to know how to handle this information accurately. Oddly enough, it was Ahmad who spoke and politely bowed to the foreign Master.

"We sincerely thank you for these important insights and information. We will gladly consider these in our plans."

Master Duchâump smiled again and set aside her empty cup.  "You have to be tired and exhausted. Let me show you accommodations. Rest and everything else can be tackled tomorrow."

Arno felt his shoulders relax and honestly, deep inside, he was looking forward to a night in a real bed. His footsteps were already heavier on the way to the premises that were available to them. None of them wasted much time on anything, let alone in-depth conversations or plans. Each of them sank into the fresh, soft sheets as quickly as possible, enjoying the feel of a soft pillow under their heads. Luxury could be so easy sometimes. Even the best friends’ male-like snoring did not bother either. Could anyone have heard regarding the deep, rock-solid sleep cycle that overtook them all. For the first time in a long while, Arno was even spared nightmares.

 

They had used their time in Marseilles to patch equipment and restock supplies. The Brotherhood provided them with fresh horses, and Arno had even managed to exchange the borrowed brown cloak for a blue one. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the memory of a moment and an "I like blue" before he pulled himself together and got ready.

It was a pleasantly warm day for the beginning of October. The roads were relatively empty and dry, so they progressed well. Marseilles had sent racing pigeons to Saint-Raphaël, so they were certainly expected there. And with this assumption, they should be right. No sooner had they passed the city limits, a pervasive, melodic whistle grabbed the attention of the three Assassins.

A slender figure rose on one of the roofs to their left, another a few yards ahead of them. They nodded to the group and began to move. It was obvious that the three newcomers should follow them. Unanimously, they left the horses and swung at the next best opportunity on the roofs to follow the foreign Assassins. The small, improvised hunt ended at an inn, which was quite prominent on the central market place. The two female Assassins were waiting for the city-newcomers.

"Marseille has informed us what all this is about. If Napoleon arrives and if he should remain in the city for a while, he will certainly do so at this inn. It's the best in town."  The foreign Assassin smiled mockingly.  "And as far as we've heard, luxury is important to people from Paris, right?"

Before Arno could respond, Francesco answered.  "Where does all this antipathy of the coastal people towards people from Paris come from? We are no different from any other Frenchman."  Francesco sounded calm, but Arno knew his friend too well not to hear the anger behind it. Reassuringly, he put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, ladies. I think from here we can get along alone. Unless there are any other news that would be of interest to us?"

The two women exchanged a glance before the first Assassin spoke again.  "No, there is nothing new. The ship is still on the move and will arrive here in two or three days. From the sea there is no possibility to send any news. According to our contact in Corsica, Napoleon is safe and sound and remaining silent about further plans."

Arno bowed politely and smiled charmingly, making the second, previously silent, Assassin blush slightly.  "Je vous remercie, mes dames."

With a wordless nod, the two women disappeared over the rooftops, leaving the Assassins from Paris behind.

"I'll get the horses and our equipment. I think I could remember the way quite well. Otherwise, it will probably not be difficult to find the marketplace again."  Arno nodded affirmatively to Francesco's proposal and began the descent to the street, while his brother traced back the way they had just come.

The inn was cozy and comfortable furnished. The two female Assassins were probably right that it was one of the better houses. Nowhere do rats flit or spider webs pollute the corners. Although it took some persuasion to wheedle the innkeeper of a room, in the end he submitted to a reasonable, albeit significantly high sum. Apparently, the owner of the inn had already heard of the expected high guest and kept every opportunity open to offer him his premises.

Arno enjoyed, after arriving in the room, washing the new dust of the journey from his skin. As much as an Assassin's outfit had become his second self, he felt just as relieved to be able to get rid of it sometimes. Sighing quietly and relaxing quickly, he stretched out on one of the beds and closed his eyes for a moment.

"We should think of a plan on how best to approach Bonaparte."  Ahmad's voice was calm, as was usually the case when he decided to talk. Arno kept his eyes closed while he answered.

"We wait until Francesco returns. He and I are more effective in making plans together."  Arno clearly heard the tiredness in his voice. What would he have given to be able to sink into sleep now? But he pulled himself together and finally opened his eyes a crack. Ahmad stood with folded arms at the foot of his bed and studied him so intensely that Arno straightened up a bit, sighing softly.

"Then we should use the time and continue to work on your gift. We had little opportunity during the journey to engage in this important matter."  Ahmad's voice was urgent and emphatic. And for some reason, this caused such an anger in Arno that he drove straight up from the bed.

"Why the hell is this gift so damned important to everyone? It has always been the sole reason in recent years that the Brotherhood has been asking me for help from time to time. Despite that they had me outcast. As if I had no other value to offer than this damned, extra sense."  Angrily, he stepped to the window and rubbed his forehead in exasperation. Ahmad did not seem to leave his place.

"Because, as you surely know, not many have this gift. And those who do it must be encouraged and trained. In Cairo, we would even go so far as to… suggest with whom you should beget descendants. This gift is too valuable to simply let it seep into nothingness."

Arno felt his anger turn to wrath. Deadly slow, he turned to the still stranger. His voice rumbled.

"Nobody... absolutely nobody... will tell me if, and if so, with whom I have to beget descendants. And only to maintain this ability upright. I'm not a breeding bull."

Ahmad returned his words in a sharpness almost like daggers with a gentle smile.  "I did not say anyone would ask for this from you. I'm just saying in which ways we would think in Cairo. Also, we do not force anyone to anything he does not want."  He paused and waited for the peace to come.  "Still, when all this is over, you should think about how you want to maintain your bloodline. Future generations will also need talents like yours. Every small advantage in the Assassin’s ranks will make our everlasting fight easier."

Arno sighed softly again and rubbed his now aching forehead.  "Ahmad, why do we have to talk about it now? Would that not have had time until we finished our mission?"

There was a brief silence, broken by Ahmad's footsteps approaching him. Arno's gaze met the equally dark look of the stranger.

"We never know in advance what fate awaits us in the course of a mission. Should it come to a conflict in any way, it may well be that not all of us survive. I'm just using the favour of the hour."

The two men exchanged silent glances until the younger man surrendered, still mute, nodding.  "All right, what should I do?"

Once again, Arno felt himself reminded of the first weeks and months of his training in the Sanctuary, when Ahmad held out a cloth with which he apparently had to blindfold. Accordingly, a crooked smile stole around the corners of his mouth, followed by a bitter move, when he even thought to hear Bellec's "Pisspott". Blind for the moment, Arno slightly turned his head as Ahmad addressed him.

"Turn to the window as if you could see normal and try to describe as accurately as possible what you can perceive."

Arno did as he was told and sent out his senses. His surroundings revealed themselves to him as if the blindfold were not there. As if he entered the rooftops in person, he pushed forward and described the city. He felt Ahmad's presence following him, accompanying him. And as his head began to ache and he could feel that his gift was about to collapse, it felt like the stranger was taking his hand and helping him to take a few more steps. Like a whisper, the calm voice touched his ear, unable to distinguish whether it was the real one or that of his gift.

"Focus. Concentrate on a goal further ahead of you and free yourself from the shackles that constrict you. You are stronger than you have ever experienced. Believe in yourself."

Strangely, it actually worked. The pain disappeared a bit and Arno managed to maintain his gift for a moment longer than usual. And he clearly felt that his reach was expanding. However, it felt awful when it almost threw him back into his real body. Groaning, he collapsed against the window frame, holding himself upright only with difficulty.

"Is it normal that it makes you feel sick afterwards?" Arno's voice was hollow and croaked. He felt Ahmad's hand on his shoulder.

"You are fine. Especially with regard to our success today. You should be proud of yourself. That was really promising."

Arno untied the blindfold and sat up with a mocking smile.  "If you have anything on hand as a reward now, I finally feel like a green boy."

The hand on his shoulder disappeared after an encouraging tap and a hearty laugh. The first one he got from Ahmad. At least his humor had not been lost over the years.

Out of the blue, Arno shot a long-forgotten memory through his head. A memory of a hard, relentless fight on a Parisian roof. Against a Cormack with anger and madness in the young eyes. And of a clash of gifts Arno had experienced only once before. When Germain died under his blade.

"Ahmad, have you ever heard that someone with this gift could invade another's mind?"

The Assassin from Cairo paused to lay down his weapons and turned back to the younger one, who was still standing at the window, his back facing the room.  "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Arno put the blindfold aside as he turned to his interlocutor.  "Years ago, I had a clash with a Templar, who apparently also had this gift. When he injured me, he almost invaded my mind by force. It was… awful."  Arno unintentionally rubbed over his right shoulder, where one of Killian Cormack's blades had almost impaled him on a roof. His left shoulder hurt like a kind of echo to this as well.  "The gift was then for days like blind. I cannot even say how I managed to throw him out. It all happened so… instinctively."  Arno raised his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest with a still uncomfortable feeling.  "And such an experience was not the first of its kind. Back then, when I killed Germain, we entered a kind of… level… where he talked to me before his heart finally stopped beating."

Ahmad's dark gaze calmly returned his own. The older man had his hands clasped behind his back. A gentle smile flashed through his thick beard.  "I thank you."

Arno blinked in confusion.  "For what?"

"That you seem to finally have enough confidence in me to talk about such matters."

Arno shifted from one foot to the other and uncomfortably shrugged his shoulders. "I… hm… just want to understand all this. And you seem to have some idea of these… supernatural things. And, secondly, be the only one I can access right now."

Which elicited once again a slight smile and a played bow from Ahmad.  "Very flattering."  As the older man straightened up, seriousness returned between the two men.  "But to the point, yes, I know such stories. As far as I remember, there was something in Mentor Auditores' records. He called it thought- or soul-corridor. But it is not clear if this really was his name for it or was only in the translations at some point. He described such conversations with his targets."  Ahmad stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "However, the violent intrusion of this Templar that you describe is completely unknown to me. How did you get rid of it?"

Arno shrugged.  "Honestly, I do not really know that. It was like a… impact… or push… of thought. As if I had bundled my gift and used it as a kind of… weapon. I do not even know how to explain it."

Again, Ahmad stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "Hm, let me do some research when we get back to Paris. I may have some documentation in which we could find something what has to do with it."  He raised a warm, smiling look to the younger one.  "For today we should let it be good and focus on the occurrences ahead."

With an approving nod from Arno, the two men turned away from each other. Thoughtfully sinking into the past, Arno picked up the blindfold again and finally turned his gaze out the window. Silently he admitted that he also hoped that training his senses would help _her_. That he would be capable, back in Malmaison, of bridging the greater distance. To reach her. His voice whispered quietly and was carried away by the wind.  "Hang in there… we'll be back soon..."

 

 „“ ----------------- „“

_"Initiate, what does it look like? Did she wake up now?“_

_"Her life signs are stable Bishop. But she does not seem to have found her way back to reality yet. The animus is turned off. I do not know what else to do."_

_\- silence -_

_"Bishop?"_

_"Get Deakon here. He should take a look at this. And don‘t lose time. Tell him it‘s urgent and that I‘ve sent you. "_

_"Alright."_

_Silence. Gorgeous silence. And a sore head, as if someone had her body parted from top to bottom. Moaning softly writhed the as 'Ava' called internally. What had happened?_

_"What unutterable chaos have you done here? Was it really wise to put someone with so little experience to the surveillance? Goddamnit, look at this."_

_"Deakon, do not scold me but help her. We have no idea what has happened. And that makes me more nervous than anything else. It looked like someone had deliberately catapulted her out of the DNA. And you know yourself that this is impossible. Even if Abstergo had found her, then..."_

_"Then she would just be brain-mush and dead, yes, I know. That looks quite different. Let me check this in peace." - silence -_

_It was a busy silence in which she could hear Deakon's wild search for answers. But she did not want to. She just wanted to stay here, float and feel nothing. Disconnected her senses and let herself drift. Until a sustained pull forced her back and a scream reached her ears. Which she registered as her own in the next moment._

_"Very good, you did it, Deakon. She is back. Initiate, help her and check her  
vitals."_

_Familiar eyes, a familiar face. The face she had last seen before Ava had climbed into the Animus._

_"Ava, it's me, Jessy. Coming back to you. Everything will be alright."_

_"Your initiate should not lie to her, Bishop. Nothing is good. The animus has been hacked. And from the inside. That should not only make us think, but also Ava."_

_"Thank you Deakon, that does not really help for the moment. Initiate, help her and as soon as she gets better, put together a conference call. We have to know what happened."_

_"Alright, Bishop."_

_A headache. Her head was roaring like never before in her life. For the first time, she was grateful for medical infusions and their rapid effects. She pulled herself together as best as she could and just a few hours later found herself in front of a screen and a video conference._

_"You say there was a foreign woman in your ancestor? And she named the place "white room"?  
– a nod -_

_"I‘ve not heard that term since… Desmond. Are you sure she called it that? "  
\- again a nod -_

_"Deakon, how can that be? How can someone foreign hack into an ancestor from the outside? Since when is there animus technology that can do that? And why don‘t we know about it? "_

_"Bishop, you ask me questions that I can‘t answer myself. And I‘ve no answers because I‘ve not been able to investigate. Suggestion: we leave it for today, I do my work and get in touch as soon as I have something. As long as you should obey the advice of these strangers and keep your hands off this ancestor. At least until we know what we're dealing with. Let's hope that William is back from Egypt by then. Maybe he has ideas."  
\- Silence -_

_"Alright, Ava, you're recovering and dedicated to your normal training. Initiate, I want all the records of the recent events in my system. Deakon, let me know as soon as you have something." - Another silence -  "All this is scary. And anything but good. Whatever that is, we have to stop it. Fast."  
\- Unanimous nod -_

 

 


	18. Piece of Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the "ISU-shit" in the form of a Piece of Eden and with it Napoléon entering this Story.  
> And as expected, no Plan is running like it was planned. But thank God is adapting to a changed situation daily work for Assassin's.  
> Nevertheless, decisions have to be made. And some of them are not really easy.

\----------- Southcoast of France, Saint-Raphaël, 9. October 1799 _\-----_

 

The white sails of the three-master were slowly hauled while the ship was moored to the dock. And, of course, the first who stepped over the pier to the shore was Napoléon Bonaparte. His unmistakable attitude had not changed over the years, let alone his outward appearance. And he did not seem in the least astonished by the waiting crowd of people, who joyfully welcomed his arrival.

Arno stood up, frowning, beside Francesco on the roof, studying the triumphal entry. After a moment's thought, he stepped openly and visibly to the edge of the roof. His left hand rested on the handle of the rapier at his belt, his cloak billowing in the wind. He exactly registered the moment when Napoleon looked around and caugt sight of the assassin in his elevated position.

Despite the distance, it felt like their eyes were meeting. Even without his special gift, Arno did not find it difficult to interpret Bonaparte's next gesture. Slowly, his right hand wandered out of his jacket to the handle of his pistol and rested there. The distance was too big to read in the other's facial expressions. But at least for Arno, this was not really necessary. When Napoléon got distracted and finally looked around again, the Assassin had long since vanished into the shadows again.

"Let me guess, that hampers us a direct, _‘Hello, we're here to protect you for a reason that has not occurred to us yet. May we sit with you?’_ " Francesco was not usually a great friend of sarcastic humor, which spoke for how hopeless he just classified their situation. Arno was still watching Napoléon's from their cover.

"Well, our last meeting, which Bonaparte was supposed to know, was not really in discord. So I cannot really say exactly where this obvious hostility comes from. Except…"

"Except...?" Francesco asked after a while of waiting silence.

"Except... someone let him know that it was me who boycotted his plans in Franciade."  Arno exchanged a look with his brother and his smile was squeezed. "And we all know who that could have been."

Francesco nodded silently before answering.  "We should meet with Ahmad and discuss what we want to do next."  He got up cautiously, looking for the next cover.

Arno followed him without comment until they reached their hostel. And indeed, the local Assassins were right, Napoleon moved into his quarters in the same house. Which caused the two brothers to enter their room via the window-way.

"That you are here and not in the company of Bonaparte means no good, right?", came Ahmad's question, as Arno swung behind Francesco into the room. Sighing, Dorian pushed his hood back.

"No, not at all. Bonaparte does not seem to think very well about me. Of course, we do not know why yet, but we should try to find out as soon as possible before..." Arno's thoughtful speech was interrupted by forcefully hammering against their room door.

"Open! In the name of Napoléon Bonaparte! Or we gain access by force!"

Ahmad started from his chair.  "Maybe they do not know anything about me yet. And in the current situation we should leave it at that. If Napoléon notices that someone from the Brotherhood of Cairo has followed him, he will have the artefact disappear. You know where the copy is stored. I’ll keep low and will contact the local Brotherhood."

Arno and Francesco had just enough time for a short, confirming nod before Ahmad disappeared through the window as someone break off their door, entering the room. Unanimously and as a result, the two assassins raised their hands in the face of the numerous rifle barrels pointed their way. An obvious officer stepped through the soldiers and closer to them.

"The Commandant awaits your presence gentlemen. Follow me."

"I do not suppose we have a chance to deny this invitation, right?" Arno's mocking tone did not fail to work. He clearly saw anger rising up the officer's neck.

"Was that really necessary?" Francesco whispered quietly beside him.

"Why not? We have nothing to fear."  Arno's eyes fixed on the officer.  "Have we not, right Captain? After all, we did not do anything wrong deserving to be locked up or even killed. Right?" 

The anger of his counterpart crept a little higher.  "Follow me… gentlemen… please." The forced politeness was literally spat at them before the officer turned away and led them through the soldiers down into the dining room.

At the foot of the stairs, Arno immediately spread his senses. The guest room was not crowded, but peppered with well-placed guards. He knew that he could rely on Francesco blindly, that he also explored any escape route if the occasion arises. Bonaparte had made himself prominently seated at one of the tables in the middle of the room, enjoying a fresh and sumptuous meal. He turned his eyes to the two Assassins as they approached his table. In a calm gesture, the Commandant leaned back and implied for his two "guests" to sit down.

Arno uncomfortably felt the guards' eyes between his shoulder blades. Francesco's tense attitude revealed that he was not much different. Napoléon studied them silently for a long time before he began to speak.

"Really long since we met, Arno. What brings you so far away from Paris? And that's just to the place, which I have chosen for my return from… Cairo? "

Arno fixed Naploéon's gaze and was sure. He knew it. And he registered in the same breath that Napoléon realized exactly that Arno understood. Hostility crackled between them and did not really relax the attitude of the three men.

"You know exactly why I'm here Napoléon. And you should have taken enough of the reports of that time to know that this artefact is dangerous. Whatever Joséphine told you, do not believe her. She pursues her own goals by sending you like her hunting-hound to the chase for this cursed thing."

Napoleon put his arm down on the table and leaned forward. Something glinted dangerously in his eyes.  "You, Monsieur, have cost me a hell of a lot of time. And a lot of dead men from my army go onto your account. And only because you had to stick your nose in matters that did not concern you. Where I could already be, if you would not have boycotted me in Franciade."

Arno opened his mouth to say something, but was held back by a raised hand.  "Do not dare to defend yourself now. I know who and what you are. Since the moment I met you in Louis's chambers. At the time, I thought we could be useful to each other."  Napoleon paused, studying Arno for a long, intense moment, that it made him uncomfortably tense his shoulders again.  "But this is over. Only my thanks for your positive actions at that time saves you and your friend from being arrested by me today."

Napoléon leaned back in his chair and beckoned one of his Aide-de-Camp.  "Make sure that these gentlemen clear the inn and secure all accesses. I do not want... unexpected... visits. Do you understand me?"  The Aide-de-Camp merely saluted and walked slowly around the table.

Arno's gaze still rested in Napoléon’s.  "I understand your anger. But I can only repeat myself once again. This thing is dangerous. And you have not the slightest idea what Joséphine is up to. Do not risk the lives of thousands for your greed for power."

Napoleon sprang from his chair, causing it to rumble backwards. The guards around him immediately put on their rifles and in the split second the situation was tilted to the detriment of the two Assassins. Carefully and with raised hands, they also rose from their chairs, covering each other's backs.

"You, Monsieur, are not in the position to prescribe me. Still to condescend to a judgment about my ambitions. This is your last chance to leave this house undamaged. I advise you, use it. At our next meeting, I will not be so lenient.”

Giving up this fight as lost, the two Assassins came around the table and followed the Adjutant up the stairs, back to their room. The guards waited outside the door until they packed up their and Ahmad's things. Silently and without exchanging further glimpses with Napoléon, Arno and Francesco finally left the inn.

It was not long before Ahmad found them and showed them the way to the local office. Arno could not resist a comment that this time it was not even underground.

"Let's think about what we should do now. Obviously, our plan to sneak in on Napoléon failed hopelessly."  Ahmad's tone was still calm, although pressing.

"I should have guessed it considering all the information Joséphine possessed. We should have come up with a different plan."  Arno felt helpless rage lift his spine.

"The whole ‘have, have’ thing is no use to us now. We must try to make the most of what we have now. Ideas?"  Francesco interjected.

Thoughtfully, the three Assassins let their eyes wander over the city. The small balcony just barely surmounted the outer wall of the office, but gave enough room to see the sea sparkle in the distance.

"We'll have no choice but to invade there tonight, find the artefact and exchange it for the copy. Napoleon will never give it up voluntarily. And if we do not do it tonight, he'll keep it somewhere unreachable on the trip back to Paris. Here and today, the best option seems to exist."  Arno's voice sounded thoughtful and not really convinced. Nevertheless, the other two men nodded affirmatively.

"As much as I do not like rushed missions, you're right, Arno. As soon as he embarks on the journey to Paris it becomes even harder to get to him. Here, in this city, at least our sisters and brothers can support us. An advantage that we can use less on open roads."

Arno nodded and pushed away from the railing of the balcony against which he had leaned thoughtfully.  "Alright, let's talk to them and work out a plan. They know the inn. They will certainly be able to give us some advice on how best to get in and out undetected."

Without waiting for further Arno strove back into the house and to the local Assassins. Inwardly, he was almost inclined to pray dumbly to all the new and unknown, that they all came out reasonably well on this matter. Napoléon's words about all the lives lost that should go to his conscience were still with him. More than he wanted to admit. And another life was on the line with this operation.

 

The night was pitch dark. No moon stood in the sky and the stars were swallowed by clouds. Somebody seemed to want to put their intention under one of those good stars. Arno and Francesco crouched flat on one of the nearby rooftops at the back of the inn. Tense, both were cautiously groping their belts again and again to see if the new bombs were actually there, where they had stowed them.

Not for the first time, Arno thanked her foreign guest for his presence. Cairo was probably more advanced in the development of 'toys' than the French Brotherhood. He had not only provided them with stun bombs with improved effects, but also sleeping bombs. According to his description, Arno strongly recalled the effect of which Joséphine had used. He was all the more eager to quasi pay it back by using them in this cloak-and-dagger operation.

A melodious owl-cry drove him out of his thoughts and let him spread his senses. The local Assassins who volunteered for this mission were in position. Carefully Arno got into a slight squat and nodded to Francesco, who stretched flat on the roof and armed his rifle in position.

Quiet as the wind, Arno crept over the rooftops until he was above his destination; the balcony of Napoléon's bedchamber. Noiselessly he sank down onto the railing and sent out his senses again. Naploéon was not alone in his room. He shared his camp with a woman who had made herself comfortable in his arms in their sleep. Guards were just outside the room. Arno had to blindly trust that the local Assassins were well trained and knew what to do.

Carefully putting one foot after the other on the balcony, Arno glided to the locked door. Taking a deep breath, he squatted in front of it and took his time and peace to crack the lock. As he heard the last bolt snap, another call sounded in his ear. The group of Assassins that was stationed around the house went into position.

While Arno made the sleep bomb sharp, he casually pulled the protective scarf over his mouth and nose. Carefully, he let the bomb roll into the room and toward the bed before quietly drew the door without closing it completely. It did not take long for the smoke to spread. The girl in Napoléon's arms stirred uneasily for a moment before being sucked into the numbing swaths. Arno once again spread his senses and captured the rest of the house. Everywhere guards sank into the same sleep. Step one of their operation had fortunately been running surprisingly smooth.

Quietly and gently, he slipped like a shadow through the balcony door and controlled Napoléon's sleep. Deep, stunned breaths soothed his ear. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily through the protective scarf two or three times, finally focusing his senses in the room. Not long, and the artefact shone towards him like a sun set too small.

Determined, the Assassin turned to the hiding place and completed step two of her mission; replace the artefact with the copy. Arno did not like the tingling in his palm at all when he salvaged the artefact from his hiding place. It almost seemed that it recognized him. And what sent him even more a shiver of horror down the spine was that it seemed to welcome him. Hurriedly, he hid the gently golden-shining object inside his cloak and turned away leaving the room the same way he had entered it. He thanked everything that was watching over them at the moment, that nobody had been harmed.

Back on the roof where Francesco waited, they did not lose another moment. Quick and purposeful, they started their way towards the city limits, where horses were waiting for them. They had unanimously decided that they would return the same night to Paris, or better, to Malmaison. Should Bonaparte notice the exchange, at least they would have a sufficient advantage.

Arno sighed inwardly at the thought of again countless days in the saddle, brought behind him in a tight gallop. But he kept in mind what their goal was. It was almost a complete month in which Adeláire had been in Joséphines' ‘company’. It was time to finally put an end to it. Determined, he therefore spurred his black horse and drove him forward. He had no plan yet what to do next. But he knew one thing for sure; he would not expose Adeláire to this situation any longer. Come what may.

 

 

\----------- outside of Paris, Malmaison, October 1799 _\---_

 

The days on the road were tough. Harder than on the outward journey. The weather had deteriorated noticeably. Barely rested from their first journey, it drove the three Assassins almost to the brink of their powers. Always on guard, whether they were being persecuted, they exclusively used accommodations of Assassin-sympathizers or unobtrusive hideouts. Accordingly emaciated and exhausted, they rode after 10 days of uninterrupted travel back into the small village without a name.

"Arno! It's Arno!" the three of them heard Léon's voice exclaim.

Tired and groaning, Arno caught the onslaught of the boy in transition to a teenager. Not too much longer until he was Arno’s height.

"You will wake up the whole neighbourhood if you keep this up. Go and feed the horses. Are Verne and Jean here or in the camp?"

Léon took the reins of Arno's horse and picked up the one Francesco threw him. Ahmad was already taking care of his mount.  "No, they are in the camp. Shall I pick her when I'm done with the horses?"

Arno smiled gently at the exuberant enthusiasm and once again ruffled Léon's hair.  "That would be a great idea. Do that. Merci, mon ami."

Tired, the three travelers strived inside and into the warmth of the Healer's House. Apparently not silent enough, she just came down the stairs at that moment, pulling a night coat around her shoulders and holding a lit candle in her hand.  "You are back. Very good."

Arno got rid of his weapons including the hidden blade and the cloak. Groaning and sighing, he stretched tired muscles and finally sat down at the table. Francesco did the same; Ahmad just put down his weapons.

"Any news?”  Arno asked questioningly to the healer, who started to stir up the fire and panned over a stew.

"I think that’s what your friends should tell you. They are better acquainted with this kind of information than I am."  Everyone nodding unanimously and let them grab bread for the moment, which the wife of the house prepared for them.

All three sat over a hearty bowl of stew when new sounds were heard from arriving horses in the yard. It was not long before Jean and Verne stormed the room.

"Finally, you're back. How did it go?" Verne managed to sound somewhat cheerful.

Arno studied his friend attentively and leaned back in his chair. A soft smile played around the corner of his mouth.  "Nice to see you so well again, Verne. Are you back to your usual self?"

Verne threw the hood of his coat back and sat down at the table without a word, a broad, relieved grin on his face.  "You know me. Nothing gets me down so easily."

Arno smiled again and raised his eyes to Jean, who drew up a chair on the other side of the table. He, too, looked tired and drained. Time that all this came to an end.

"Tell us! How did it go? Do not tease us so much and put us in suspense,” LaHache declared rather grumpily.

Arno nodded mutely and silently reached into his coat, which lay behind him over his chair. Carefully, almost like a raw egg, he put the artifact in the middle of the table. Why talk so long when the possession of this small, golden-shimmering sphere speaks for itself?

Verne, as the one who always liked to analyze everything and take it apart, leaned forward curiously, and carefully reached out a hand for the artifact.

Arno's voice was sharper than intended as he stopped Verne.  "Don’t! This thing looks more harmless than it is."

Verne's gray eyes looked at his friend with a hint of arrogant unbelief. But when he realized the seriousness in the opposite, he withdrew his hand and nodded silently.  "Ok, that's it? This shrouded in legends artefact? What exactly can it do, that it’s so important to Napoléon?"

All eyes rested on Arno, who was the only one who had ever seen the artifact in action. And who had as few answers to these questions as his friends. So it was Ahmad who appealed for explanations:

"This so-called Edenapple can manipulate people's fears and horrors. As far as I know, he was then in an underground temple, which was littered with night animals. No one feels comfortable with that. Therefore, these creatures were summoned to put Arno's enemies to flight. But that also works with other fears. Our tests in Cairo have shown that the apple also takes advantage of fears that hide deep in the soul and only eat away internally without possessing an outward manifestation. We suspect this can lead to suicide."

Silence ensued after this explanation. Gazes rested on the harmless, small, round object in the center of the table. Until finally Jean‘s snarling voice broke the silence.

"OK got it. Bad little thing. What are we going to do with it now? "

Arno felt his heart clench. Every single day of their return journey he had thought about this question. And about how they could free Adeláire from her situation. They knew from the Assassin Network that they had one, maximum two days ahead of Bonaparte. However, they did not know whether he would ride directly to Paris, or first visit his wife in Malmaison. Regardless, a solution had to be found for their captive sister. He hoped his brothers would consider his next words:

"We exchange it. Against Adeláire. "

His voice was dry and brittle in his ears. And it narrowed his throat and chest during the following silence. That no one protested directly in the first breath, Arno pointed out as a good sign. But he also knew that this did not always mean something to these men, his friends. Therefore he was silent as well and waited.

It was Francesco who was the first to speak.  "How do you want to do that?"

Strangely enough, Verne protested before Arno could answer.  "Are you both crazy? With all the love I feel for Adeláire, she would not want that. You have just snatched from Bonaparte this damned thing and now you want to deliver it him back home by handing it over to his wife? In exchange for our sister? You cannot be serious?!"

Even Jean spoke up.  "I was not there when you got it and I did not experience this thing in action. But what Monsieur Ahmad explains does not sound good. Not at all. And things like that should not be in the hands of such power-hungry... idiots as Bonaparte. My opinion."

Arno raised his hands placating and then laid his forearms on the table.    
"I did not say Joséphine should keep the artifact. I just said that we offer her the exchange."  He paused for a moment to capture the attention of the four other men.  "And then we make sure that we leave the property with both; the artifact... _and_... Adeláire."

Verne let the air out of his lungs noisily as he leaned back in his chair. Francesco imitated Arno's posture, his gaze resting on the artifact. Jean had taken his usual sitting position in a chair and rubbed a hand over his face.

It was Verne who started to speak again.  "Forgive me, Arno, your idea is honorable. But the last plan to play games with Joséphine failed miserably. Not that you have recently come up with bad plans. But we still know too little about Joséphine to be able to eradicate clearly that she is not three steps ahead of us again. And somehow, I have the feeling that this time she will not let us get away so cheaply."

Arno felt a nasty sting in his heart as he perceived the unconscious gesture of his friend, with which Verne embraced his left side. Despite the many days that had passed since the knife wound, he must had to feel this injury still clearly. Sighing softly Arno let his head hang down a little.

"Ahmad, what's the reach of this... apple... as you call it?" Francesco's voice sounded thoughtful as he continued to study the artifact.

"What exactly do you want to know?" came the counter question from the stranger.

"Well, for example, could it be used only against opponents who are in front of you? Or is it more of a kind of radius that covers everything around the wearer? The latter was the case, as far as I correctly remember Arno's stories, when he used the artifact in Franciade. But have you been able to find out more about it in your research in Cairo?"  Francesco looked up at Ahmad. His body language expressed a spark of hope.

Ahmad crossed one arm over his chest and stroked the lush beard with the other hand. Now it was up to him to rest his gaze thoughtfully on the artifact.  "Mhm, we have done only a few experiments with the apple. But at least the radius was adjustable. As far as I know, Monsieur Dorian has also had this experience. However, if you can adjust the effect, I'm sorry, I cannot say."

Oppressive silence weighed in the room. Until she was torn by Jean.  "How about if we just give it a try? We do not harm anyone out here and Arno has already controlled the thing once. He can certainly do it again. Or not?"

Arno nodded silently, though a shiver of horror went down his spine. "You are right, Jean. Not a bad idea."

Even before anyone could protest, Arno got up from his chair, took the artifact and headed for the door. It was Verne who held him back.  "Are you really sure you want to do that, Arno?"

He turned half back to his friends. His eyes touched the familiar figures and pairs of eyes. A soft smile played around the corner of his mouth before turning away in silence and stepping outside. The proclamation of a "For Adeláire" would have sounded only pathetic.

Once outside, he ignored the light rain, which soaked his shirt in an instant. He took a few steps out into the open field and looked over his shoulder to make sure the others were far enough away. He already hated the slight tingle in his palm. How would it feel once he activated it?

The answer followed at the foot as the familiar golden field spread around him. Due to the fact that nobody was near him, it caused no further reaction. Arno strained the artifact in short impulses, trying to focus them in a certain direction. He felt the little thing in his palm pulling and tugging at him. To penetrate into him, trying to turn his inside outward. He felt, as it wildly trying to escape his control, struggled against him with all his might. Finally, with an angry, pain-filled cry, he collapsed; as a result, the apple rolled out of his trembling fingers.

The terrified yell of his name Arno only heard through the angry growling in his ears. It was Verne, who first arrived at him and sank down beside him. Arno raised his hands defensively and reassuringly as Verne grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and shook him.

"Arno, come to your senses! Arno!"

Confused, he noticed that he was lying on his back, worried faces of his friends bent over him. With a sour gag, he curled up convulsively and on his side to regurgitate the stew from earlier.

"Okay, so much for the idea of trying to control this thing."  Verne's tone was filled with anger and a trail of helpless fear.

Jean handed Arno a strong hand and pulled the younger man firmly to his feet.  "You better save that thing."  He studied Arno for a moment.  "If you can do that right now. I mean, we could just let it rust out here."

That really made Arno laugh. With disgust, he turned to the shiny metallic object, picked it up, and stashed it in his belt. His voice was croaking as he began to speak.  "Verne is right. I cannot seem to control this thing. I can influence the radius. But nothing more."

Tired, he turned to Francesco, who thoughtfully waited a bit aside with Ahmad.  "So ‘Cesco, what exactly was the background of your considerations?"

The question that prompted at him made Francesco cross his arms over his chest and stare thoughtfully at the ground. What he always did when he first wanted to sort out his thoughts.  "If we could have aligned the effect, we might have been able to make sure that Joséphine was in front of you at the feigned delivery. That might have opened the way for an attack by means of this thing. Since this is not possible, we have to think of an alternative."

All five men were silent. Nobody started to return to the house. After all, it was Arno who thought the idea over.  "That means then that I'm best to go to the handover alone. I do not even want to begin with a test here, in the open field, to explore what effect this thing has on you. The risk is too big. When I go alone, I do not have to pay any attention to anyone else. Except for... Adeláire... "

Once again silence spread, which was finally broken by Francesco.  "Maybe she's as immune to the effects as you are? Maybe it's related to your gift."

"The woman also has the gift?" Ahmad interjected unexpectedly, and with a completely surprised tone.  All four French Assassins nodded silently to this statement.

"But it's not as pronounced as mine,” Arno said.  "She knows no visions and cannot perceive opponents as clearly as I do. At least according to her statement." Ahmad nodded silently and sank back into his silence again.

"How about you go to this delivery together with Ahmad. At least you are not completely alone. And if it really is determined by this gift, whether it is influenced or not, well, then at least Ahmad is also immune."  Verne's voice sounded calmer than his outward attitude suggested. Nervously, he let two of his bombs roll in one hand as if they were Qigong orbs.

"All right, suggestion, we'll do it this way,” Francesco began, his tone clearly suggesting that he was becoming annoyed with all this planning,  "Arno and Ahmad are going open to this feigned exchange. Verne and Jean, you try to follow hidden within the range of vision. Make sure you stay out of range of the artifact. And I’ll stay down on the lookout as usual with my rifle as a hedge. Arno, at the first available opportunity, you use the artifact against Joséphine, and whoever she has with her. If something does not work as intended, try to get Adeláire out of there without anyone getting hurt. Should this not be the case, be sure to keep the artifact. Then at least we have a means of negotiation and pressure. Can anyone agree with that?"

Although Francesco was the youngest in their group, everyone present unanimously nodded to his suggestion.

"And what about me? What should I do?" Léon crowed indignantly from behind them.

"You, young man..." Arno put Léon in his place before Francesco interrupted him.

"...you'll wait for us on the borders of the property with the horses ready to go if something goes wrong. If all goes well, we can ride home unmolested. But if not, we need a reliable contact point. Can you manage that, Léon? "

The boy straightened and his features stole something like adult seriousness and irrepressible pride.  "Of course I can do that. Would not be the first time that I have to save Arno's butt."

This elicited an easy detachedly laugh, causing Arno to give the boy a nudge on the shoulder.

"Believe me, boy, saving Arno's butt can become an exhausting task." Verne's teasing tone sounded just like the old one. All the less could Arno be angry with him.

"Let's go inside before we all catch our death out here in the rain. I still need something to warm up and then someone should sit down for a letter for Joséphine. It's time for us to put an end to this whole theater."  Arno felt the determination return to him and set aside the horror of the artifact. He welcomed that familiar feeling which always came after the troupe decided that they had found a plan to pursue. Now it was only to hope that everything went smoothly. In all their, and especially in Adeláire’s, senses.

 

Arno brooded thoughtfully the next morning with a cup of coffee over the letter, which they wanted to send Joséphine. For some unknown reason, he found it difficult to find words. And to make the letter sound as if Joséphine would trust them. He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of dried meat as Verne came down the steps into the living room and joined him for breakfast.

"Are you moving forward?" his friend finally asked attentively.

Arno grabbed his hair for a moment before leaning back in his chair.  "I simply cannot find any plausible arguments as to why she should trust us and our proposal. It's like seeing our trick shimmer through every line."

Verne put on a strikingly unremarkable neutral expression and dunked a piece of fresh bread in his coffee.  "How about simply writing about your feelings for Adeláire and explaining to Joséphine that you would even be willing to surrender the artifact for her?"  Verne stared intensely at his friend.  "So she’ll set the woman you love free."

Arno swallowed hard and felt nervous discomfort rising in him. It almost closed his throat and made him look away. Irritated, he played with the quill pen until he broke it unintentionally.  "I... I do not know. I... " the otherwise deadly assassin stuttered helplessly to himself.

"When will you two finally admit it to each other, huh? Every blind person with two eyes can see it. And I'm sure you two know it for yourself as well. Now you just have to have the courage to say it out loud and stand by it."  Verne’s voice sounded gentle and sensitive. Nevertheless, it only reinforced Arno's inner panic. He rose quickly from the table and began to wander up and down the room.

"It... it's just... complicated. After all that happened... at that time. I've already let her come too close to me. And see what it has already brought her into. I only put people I love in danger. And then... they die. I... I cannot do that... Verne. I cannot do that again. I do not ... _want_ … to have to go through everything again. I... for God’s sake..."  Again, the younger man ruffled his dark hair and finally stood helplessly breathing heavily at the table.

"I know… Arno..." Verne finally said, gently.  "But it's already too late for that. It does not change the fact that you have feelings for each other. To deny them does not help anyone of you. And if you can use them now to convince Joséphine, jump over your shadow and do it. Afterwards, when we're all safe in Paris again, you can take care of the rest of the entanglements."

Arno raised his eyes to his friend, who was finishing his little speech with a sip of his coffee.  "But I ...", the younger one stammered again, before pausing and surrendering to Verne's logic with a sigh.  "You're probably right."

Verne smiled gently and leaned back. "Sometimes I have that, yes."

Arno grinned softly.  "Not really often. But... sometimes."  Tired, he sank down into his own chair again.  "Speaking of entanglements, did you find something out about those weird tinctures which Léon brought with him?"

Verne snapped his fingers and dug out his chemistry notebook from his belt.  "Good that you remind me. That would almost have perished otherwise."  He flipped a moment until he found the right pages.  "Well, most of the ingredients are plant-based. However, in the particular constellation strange. Nobody would normally come up with the idea of mixing these substances in this way. The end result is highly addictive relaxants and hallucinogens. I still could not penetrate into the cellular details, I simply do not have the equipment here. But they may even be highly toxic."

Arno felt his heart tighten more and more with every word he heard. What the hell did these women do to Adeláire?

Verne's gaze and facial expression changed from analytical to profoundly worried.  "In any case, no matter what it is and what it does, it cannot be good for a human organism. One more reason, together with the many others, to get her out of there as soon as possible."

Arno just made a silent nod. Throat and voice were blocked by a stubbornly thick lump. Silently he sought a new quill pen and finalized the letter to Joséphine. Time to end this.

 

Arno felt his hands clench in to fists over and over again, as he headed purposefully along the gravel path toward the main entrance of Joséphine's country house. Behind him, Ahmad's footsteps interrupted his sound measure. A day had passed since they had sent word to Joséphine. There was no news from Napoléon. All the Assassins silently hoped he would head straight for Paris.

It almost seemed to be tearing Arno's heart as he approached the waiting group and saw the familiar, brown-reddish hair shining in the sunshine. Silently, he spread his senses, forcing himself to perceive everything around him and not focus solely on her.

Of course, Joséphine had posted guards. Even if only Constanze and Genévieve were in her direct company. The three women were dressed in the strange robes they had worn during Arno's last stay in the basement of the house. He could only guess that they wanted to get enough freedom of movement. It caused him to be more alert than ever.

Finally, he ventured to capture Adeláire with his senses. Her figure nestled intimately into his perception, and he was relieved to find that at least physically she seemed to be well. To read her gaze, the distance was still too great. Another pulse of his senses made him ascertain that Verne and LaHache were behind him and Ahmad at the distance. Everything was ready.

"Monsieur Dorian, good to see you again. And so safe and... sound."  In Joséphine's voice, as always, this viper-like swung along, sending Arno a raging shiver down the spine. He stayed at a reasonable distance and waited. Silently, the two groups, one slightly larger than the other, stared at each other, combatively. Finally, it was Joséphine who spoke again.

"You have something to offer, Monsieur Dorian?"

Arno clenched his fists again and lowered his head. He knew that the hood of his coat hid most of his features in the dark and he was not grateful for that for the first time. Silently, he picked up the artifact and gently lifted it into the sunlight so that it shimmered golden.

He could clearly read the vastness of eyes and greed in them as the general object of desire was brought into play. It elicited only a very slight draft around the corner of his mouth before his facial expression smoothed out again.

"You know the conditions. Our sister against the artifact and undisturbed escort. Should you have changed your mind in the meantime, now is the time to talk about it."  Arno did not dare to glance at Adeláire. He was not sure his body language would have betrayed him in any way.

"Absolutely, those were the conditions."  Joséphine smiled artificially.  "And no, I do not intend to change that. Everything is as it should be."  Slowly, Bonaparte's wife stepped down two or three steps to him while she fixed him with a smile.  "So, Monsieur Dorian, let's get rid of this miserable affair so everyone can go their own ways again."

Joséphine stretched an arm sideways and flicked twice invitingly. As a result, Adeláire stiffly set in motion and joined her side. It was just a touch of movement that would have allowed Arno to turn his gaze to his sister. But still he did not dare. Silently holding up the artifact in his left hand, he nodded affirmatively to Joséphine.

The tension of all present was almost tangible. Ahmad stayed behind Arno as he slowly approached Joséphine and Adeláire. Arno felt sweat on his forehead. Silently he prayed to all knowns and unknowns that nothing could go wrong now. Slowly he raised his right arm and held out his open hand to Adeláire. Relieved, he determined that she returned his gesture. Only out of the corner of his eye did he perceive the trembling of her fingers. His gaze was still fixed on Joséphine, who was wearing an irritatingly confident smile.

Just outside his reach, Bonaparte's wife finally stopped and smiled honey-sweet.  "Tell me one thing before we finish all this here, Monsieur Dorian. Were all those heart-breaking words in your letter that should inspire confidence really true?"

Arno felt his jaw clench as well as his fingers around the apple. But he still held his arms outstretched from the body so as not to provoke Joséphine.  "Why do you want to know that? And more important, why the hell would I just tell _you_ that?"

Joséphine continued to smile in this enervating manner as she nonchalantly took one of Adeláire’s arms, and thus prevented her from further striving towards Dorian.  "Because our dear guest is probably burningly interested in it, whether you are doing all this only out of fraternal sense of duty. Or... if perhaps love really is involved, as you so beautifully described in your letter."

Arno felt a growl in his throat, which only expressed itself in the short, furious bleeding of his teeth.  "Listen... witch... even if it's none of your business. If it causes us to get over this faster, fine, you should have your will."  He fixed his gaze on Joséphine and still avoided apprehending Adeláire.  "Every word I wrote to you was true. If it has served to gain your trust, so much the better. All I want is to be able to leave this property unharmed with this woman. That ought to do.”

Joséphine pretended to think about his words and finally smiled wickedly. "Not quite what I had hoped, Monsieur Dorian, but it should be enough for the moment. Give me the artifact and you can go. Both of you."  With which she extended her right hand to him.

Arno took another step forward and twisted his wrist so that the apple in his left hand hovered over Joséphine's open palm. His right hand extended to Adeláire, carrying something almost imploring. He still did not take his eyes off Bonaparte's wife for a moment, nor she him.

"Arno ..."

The soft whisper of her voice at his ear was almost too much for him to endure. He felt his outstretched right hand gently begin to tremble. And he angrily registered, what a triumph that gave to Joséphine. He bit his teeth stubbornly.

"Arno... please... go. You cannot trust her. She will never let us go. Please... Arno... listen to me..."  The pleading whisper almost broke his heart.

"Everything will be fine. I'll get you out of here."  He whispered to her just as softly, knowing that Joséphine could hear them. His eyes still fixed her as an enemy.

"No, Arno... you cannot... She knows... she just knows everything... I... I'm lost ... I'm... no longer me... you... have to let me go..."  Her voice was pleading, hollow, broken. It brought rage and bottomless fear to the surface in Arno.

"That's out of the question. I will never lose anyone again. Not without a fight..."  His whisper sounded more like a hiss.

"Arno... please... save yourself... this fight is already lost..."

He swallowed hard and strained to hold his hand still, which reached out to offer her salvation and support.

"Calm down. Everything will be fine. Take my hand... Adeláire... please..." he pleaded softly and fervently.

The moment he felt a slender hand closing around his right wrist, it all happened very quickly. With a jerk he pulled Adeláire in his direction, while on his left the hidden blade went out and carried out an attack on Joséphine's palm. Instinctively Arno put all his power into activating the artifact and sent a golden wave into the group, praying silently that they were right and Adeláire was not bothered by it.

And this was also the moment when Arno realized with horror that the smooth running of their plan came to an end. He heard the snap of the whip before he saw its result. As in his nightmare on the road to the south coast, he felt the slender hand disappear around his wrist and Adeláire was snatched away again. In addition, neither Joséphine, nor her girls were in any way impressed by the effect of the artifact. An angry shriek went up and belonged to an ugly distorted face of Joséphine.

"I knew you could not be trusted... Assassin! Catch him! And bring me the artifact!"

Why she had not ordered to kill him eluded Arno's understanding. But he took it as it came. There was no time for wondering questions. Desperately, he searched for Adeláire in the churning-up of chaos, but she had vanished again – just like nothing. Joséphine hid her bleeding arm at her waist while guards stormed out of the house behind her. Arno reflexively threw one of the many smoke bombs, while Ahmad grabbed one of his different gadgets.

Ahmad's bombs clung to the guards, releasing something as they burst, apparently frightening them to death. Francesco's rifle sounded and switched off the riflemen on the roof. The pistol shots belonged to Verne, and Arno almost elicited a faint smile from the dumb > _pfhump <_ of the guillotine shotgun. LaHache's eyes had shone lovingly at the sight of his new beauty.

With wild despair Arno sent out his senses and sought in all the shouting and battle noise to Adeláire. But it was hopeless. She was and remained missing.

"Arno, let's go. We have to disappear. The plan has failed,” Ahmad said urgently, while placing a hand on Arno’s shoulder and pulling him away from the fray.

A fist once again laid iron-heavy around Arno's heart and squeezed. An angry, furious outcry escaped his chest, before he, leaving behind more smoke, inevitably began the retreat. They would never be able to reach back to Adeláire again. All that remained was to wait for a new opportunity. Wait, wait again. Not knowing what they were doing with her in the meantime. Angry and with burning eyes, Arno spurred his black horse to return to the village with the others.

 

 „“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire pulled and dragged on her shackles. It all felt so surreal. Caught in her own body, barely able to control it herself. The presence of the stranger in the neck, which narrowed her throat to suppress any treacherous sound. Desperately, the Assassin tried to resist, to rebel, perhaps even to free. Unsuccessful.

She felt her heart and breath stop for a moment as the so familiar figure to her came into view in the company of a stranger. The blue coat was not his, but that did not matter at the moment. It was clearly him.

"Keep her under control. Don’t you dare try anything if something goes wrong," came the hissing reply quietly next to her from Joséphine. Adeláire knew exactly she meant the other in her. And it was also she who answered with a silent nod.

"Just let the reins go so far that he does not notice. According to the memories that you have already been able to dig up in her, in the short time he might still have gotten to know her quite... intensively.... So be careful."

Joséphine's voice sounded nervous, as if she did not really trust that stranger in Adeláire. The usual riding crop tapped nervously on her boot and the free hand in the waist drummed uneasily on the belt. All this gave the Assassin enough courage to fight back against the shackles. If this was supposed to be a spectacle, she would make it as hard as possible for everyone present.

Adeláire's heart was heavy as Arno stopped at a proper distance. Only with half an ear did she follow the conversation, concentrating on perceiving everything in him and sucking it in herself. The strange cloak, the strange rapier at his side, the new bracer with hidden and phantom blade, the stubborn pull of his jaw. It was not until Joséphine's requesting snapping brought her back to reality.

With new strength and energy, Adeláire fought against the stranger, who inwardly but surely stifled her. It was her turn that caused her hand to reach out to Arno. But it was the inward struggle that made her fingers tremble.

Unexpectedly, her opponent let loose, possibly stunned by a Adeláire’s maneuver. She wasted no further thought and took the opportunity.

"Arno ..."

Adeláire cheered inwardly. She had done it. She fought hard to stay on the surface. Clinging mentally to his, so close and so distant, statue. She stretched out her hand to his, who had begun to tremble at the pronouncement of his name.

But her fight had not served to whisper loving words to him. Solely to warn him. To save him.

"Arno... please... go. You cannot trust her. She will never let us go. Please... Arno... listen to me..." the Assassin whispered softly.

"Everything will be fine. I'll get you out of here." His whisper was as quiet as hers. Knowing that Joséphine could hear them. Adeláire brought it tears to her eyes and it almost broke her heart. Still, she had to make him give up all this.

"No, Arno... you cannot... She knows... she just knows everything... I... I'm lost ... I'm... no longer me... you... must let me go..."  She could hear her voice pleading, hollow, broken. And she could feel his anger and fear almost physically.

"That's out of the question. I will never lose anyone again. Not without a fight..." His whisper sounded more like a hiss.

She did not dare to look away from him. Who knew when she would see him again? Especially when, as herself. Her eyes blurred at her next words.  "Arno... please... save yourself... this fight is already lost..."

She saw his quarrelling, felt his will, felt how what must be love burned in her and gave her strength. Maybe she was wrong all the time. Maybe love was not a weakness?

He swallowed hard and tried strained to hold his hand quiet, which reached out to offer her salvation and support.

"Calm down. Everything will be fine. Take my hand... Adeláire... please..." he pleaded softly and fervently.

With the last of her strength and only deep in her mind whispering the three words that she might never have been able to confess to him in person, she reached out and wrapped his wrist. Everything that followed happened so fast that Adeláire perceived it as if through a fog.

Thrown back into helplessness, the stranger took full control again. The snap of the whip placed itself breath-taking around her throat before anyone could tell Genévieve that her ally was again mistress of the situation. Determined, the three girls withdrew and took advantage of the mists of the Assassins to disappear unseen in front of their eyes.

Adelaire shouted and yelled inwardly, taking her last bit of strength before sinking back into what had become her new world.

_Fog, Float, Warmth, Light._

 

„“ ----------------- „“

_"Deakon, what does it look like? What did you find out? "_

_A new meeting like the many others in the last few days. Everyone had worked excitedly and purposefully while Ava recovered and distracted herself with training. Now she sat again in front of a screen with a videoconference._

_"As mentioned at the beginning, we have been hacked. And in a very subtle way. Any of the DNA sequences were contaminated and opened, so to speak, backdoors in all directions. I have not been able to isolate the corresponding sequences yet. Say, I cannot say exactly if it concerns the Dorian or the Fontaine data. And for the closing of the open barn doors I have only a temporary solution. As long as I do not know where the source of the attack is coming from, I cannot really take effective action against them. "  
\- thoughtful silence -_

_"So what are you considering, Deakon?"_

_"Mm, we should contact Gavin. Somebody has to find these people in here, in the real world, and eliminate them. And as for the technology, we need Rebecca. This is dangerous. And I advise you to do everything but underestimate it."  
\- Silence -_

_"Hm, heavy cannons. But you're probably right, Deakon. My gut feeling also tells me that someone is sitting dangerously on our necks. Ava? Do you feel fit and stable enough that you can re-establish contact with the Fontaine data?"_

_Ava startled from a kind of audience lethargy and thought for a moment before nodding._

_"Good. Jessy, I'll take you off to a less delicate project. We need someone with more experience at the monitoring station. Ava, as soon as the new technician is available I want you to take up the contact again as cautiously as possible. As soon as even weird things happen, leave the Animus and contact me. Deakon, contact Gavin and Rebecca. Let's get to the bottom of this... whatever."_

_Unanimous nod before the conference died down and everyone went to work._

 


	19. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, first things first: SPOILERALERT regarding englishbutter's Story!  
> Everyone, who doesn't want to be spoiled about anything shouldn't read any further!  
> \------  
> Ok, you're still here. Cool ^^  
> This Chapter were finished a while now. I had to thought about a lot, if i explained it clearly enough to Arno, what's happening.  
> But after a lot of forth and back thinking, i stick with that chapter the way it is. Maybe it get changed, when englishbutter's story reaches the point of Arno's first engagement with... well, read and see on your own... ;o)  
> And at this point again a huge thank you to her. Because without her ideas about Lady Eve, this story wouldn't exist the way it does.  
> I like teamwork. And i hope, i can do some more with her in the future.  
> But for now, enjoy some crazy stuff. There's not that much left which has to be published. We're close x)

\------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, October 1799 _\-----_

 

 

Arriving in the village without a name, Arno, burning with rage, nearly blew his knuckles bloody on one of the pillars in the stable. Discreetly, his brothers left him alone and waited inside the house until he calmed down. It was not often that Arno lost control of himself to such an extent. But each of the three knew that words would make no sense at the moment.

It took Arno quite a while, drenched in sweat and with calming breathing, to join them. Glances of his friends just grazed him merely incidentally, careful not to provoke him again. Everyone waited silently for Arno to speak. But first he closed the door behind him and approached the table without sitting down.

"I decided to ride to Versailles. I have to see someone there and have a serious word with him."  Arno did not only feel the questions in their eyes. Silently he grabbed his belt and put the artifact on the table.  "Monsieur Ahmad, you should take and keep it. Maybe you should even start to Cairo and take it with you. Then it's finally out of the game."

It was Verne, who cleared his throat first.  "And do you also tell us why exactly it is that you are driving to someone in Versailles? As far as I know you never wanted to set foot in this place again."

Arno felt anger arise inside him. And he also felt exactly that this had absolutely nothing to do with the question of his friend. He almost thought he could still feel the slender fingers around his wrist and it drove him again a lump in the throat. His fingertips tapped restlessly on the table before beginning an explanation.

"Okay, maybe you can remember the time back then with Kenway and the Cormacks."

Verne let out a noisy breath and leaned back in his chair.  "Oh, dear, this disaster. What is coming now..."

"Verne, leave it. Arno wants to explain it. And in any case, this kind of open planning, I do prefer more than the other way around. So do not interrupt him."  Francesco's tone obviously sounded sharper than he had originally intended.

Arno's gaze briefly touched LaHache. He was the only one who had not caught all happenings up close. Maybe they could initiate him later. But Arno would think about that even just ‘later’. Silently, he collected his thoughts.

"You certainly remember those strange characters who acted on behalf of Lady Eve. Especially the one who killed himself with this hydrocyanic acid. And that I followed the trail to Versailles at that time."

Verne and Francesco both nodded silently. Apparently they could actually remember the details.

"Well, what I did not tell you at the time is that I actually found out something in Versailles."

Francesco frowned and leaned forward in his chair.  "Wait a minute, you told us then that the trail in Versailles quasi silted up in the dead nothing. And that you could not find any further clues regarding this weird Lady Eve. Can you explain why you lied to us?"

Arno crossed his arms over his chest and felt his inner frustration mingling with guilt.  "To be honest, because what I found out sounded way too… fantastic and surreal at the time as that I somehow could have explained it to you plausibly."  Arno looked up and into uncomprehending pairs of eyes. He sighed softly and continued.  "I came across a society which prepares for the arrival of Lady Eve. They were also after the artifact in Franciade. However, to keep it for Lady Eve. Because, at that time apparently, she had not been born yet."

Arno let the words sink into the consciousness of his friends and could clearly see how they worked in them. It was Francesco who was the first who recollect himself.

"Wait a minute, all these clues to Lady Eve do not concern any person living here and now? But why does an entire society focus on some future life? And how do they even know that person will ever exist? "

Arno rubbed his forehead and then crossed his arms again.  "You see, that's exactly the questions I asked back then. And the explanations to this I have not really understood until today. Supposedly, this person will play an important role in human history in 200 years. And among other things, she needs the support of these artifacts. She will develop a… technology… as they call it, allowing her to experience the lives of earlier humans. Humans like... us..."

This time it was Verne who was the first to find his words again.  "You mean, it could even be that right now, just at that moment, through us... through our eyes... somebody is witnessing all this? And we would not even know it? "

Arno shrugged helplessly.  "I do not know, Verne. From what this person has explained to me back then, I have understood only half. And the other half, my mind still refuses to deal with it until today."  He sighed softly.  "But yes, something like that... I suppose."

Verne got up from the table and paced up and down two or three times, before he stood with his back to his brothers, facing the fire.

Francesco leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and looked at Arno thoughtfully.  "I understand why you did not tell us about it at the time. That sounds too fantastic to be true. Even with what we've experienced lately, it's hard for me. Even in the face of this artifact."  The younger one paused thoughtfully.  "Why do you want to visit this society again? What are you hoping for?"

Arno began pacing thoughtfully as he sorted his thoughts.  "In the course of our research and as we prepared all this here, we have come across clues to Lady Eve again and again. Joséphine and her girls also referred to her when we were trapped in this cellar. All of these are just too many co-existents to want to leave these unchecked. I want to ask the society what all this madness is in the name of Lady Eve's."  He felt the angry sting in his eyes as he stopped his walk and fixed his friends.  "And woe to them, they have no plausible answers."

Unanimous silence spread until Verne turned back to the table and to his brothers.  "I think that's a good idea. Do that, Arno. Francesco, you should ride to Paris and bring the Council up to date. I think we need reinforcement. If we cannot exchange Adeláire for the artifact, then we have to get her out of it by force. The time for playing games is over."

"Finally words to my taste," replied a visibly relieved LaHache.

Everyone nodded unanimously while Ahmad administered the artifact.  "I'm going to Paris with Monsieur Marechal. I think the artifact is kept safest in the Sanctuary."

Determined, Arno turned to leave and headed back to the stable. He was eager to ask society a few questions. And could only hope for those that they had plausible answers ready. He could feel the desire to drive his blade down someone’s throat to gain the upper hand. A desire he had only felt the first and last time with Germain.

 

 

 

\------------- outside Paris, Versailles, October 1799 _\-----_

 

 

He hated this place. He had spent most of his youth here. But the last experiences and memories made him red-faced repeatedly pull the hood deeper in the forehead and hope that no one still lived here, who even remotely remembered his crash six years ago. To anyone who asked him, he would admit frankly that he had already spent a few lazy nights in his youth, which certainly ended in one or the other collision. But as publicly and repeatedly as he had done back then, he had seldom embarrassed himself to the bone.

Arno deliberately avoided the former de la Serre property. He already and for days felt sore inside, as if Élise had just left him yesterday. He did not want to offer this pain any further food. His footsteps strode to the marketplace, and with a grim pull at the corners of his mouth, his gaze wandered to the place where the guillotine had stood, on which he had finally put an end to La Touché. Back then, it had been a return to his own self. From today's point of view, Arno no longer knew whether it was actually a return, a turning point, or something quite different.

Thoughtfully, he looked around in the human bustle. Versailles was still marked by the revolution and La Touchè's executioner mentality. Not so many people lived in the tranquil village as in his youth. But it seemed as life slowly returns to it.

When he was in search of the secret society at that time, without really knowing what he was looking for, it was they who had found him. He had come too close to them, so that they had finally been forced to act. This time the situation was different. He had to come up with something to draw their attention.

Without any specific purpose, his footsteps finally carried him towards the church of Saint-Louis. He felt the eyes that rested on him, as if phantom blades were stuck in his back. Searching, he looked around the forecourt and followed a spontaneous idea.

Politely he borrowed from a street artist, who was just about to banish the church on canvas, brush and paint. A piece of paper was quickly found, and with almost meticulous precision and a long-trained, clean handwriting, the otherwise so deadly assassin painted the remembered, ornate "E" on the leaf, which they had found in Napoléon's desk so long ago. And as a sort of an explanation, Arno draped the sign of the Assassin’s around it. Official affiliation with the Brotherhood or not, this should hopefully explain enough to contact him in a timely manner.

Gratefully, he returned the artist his utensils and then went to the main entrance of the church. He took a phantom blade from his arsenal and pinned the "artwork" to the wood. Holding on for a second, Arno briefly spread his senses and registered with satisfaction that his observer had caught everything. With a slight smile around the corner of his mouth, the Assassin slowly turned away and headed for the nearest café with an outside patio.

Arno made himself comfortable. With folded legs, studying a newspaper and enjoying a cup of coffee, he waited. An indefinite feeling told him that he would not have to wait long. And yet, his inner impatience pulled and tugged at him, wanting to do something active. It felt like a thousand ants were tingling on his skin.

"Monsieur Dorian, pleased... to see you again."

Arno folded the newspaper unhurriedly and laid it down on the table to finally look up at the newcomer.  "You're still a bad liar, Monsieur Moreau."  The Assassin smiled gently up at the slightly older man, but spared himself to offer him a chair.  "I see my message has arrived."

The middle-aged man named Monsieur Moreau frowned in annoyance.  "As far as I remember, our society agreed with you at the time that you would not interfere in our affairs again. What moved you to break this agreement? "

Arno got up from his chair and bowed his head vaguely as he looked into his opponent's eyes. He knew that the expression in the dark Assassin's eyes was hidden to Moreau because of the hood's protective shadows. Clearly Arno could feel through his senses anger mixed with fear in the other person. He consciously kept his voice low and calm.  "I have to talk to someone from the leadership of your society. Someone is acting on behalf of Lady Eve. And, in a strange way, I am fairly certain that this is not happening in the knowledge and blessing of your society."

Arno took a step closer to the older man, who just retreated that one step back from him.  "And if it does, then may God have mercy upon you all as soon as I find my way to your sanctuary."  His voice rumbled threateningly.

His counterpart tore noticeably together and the anger gained the upper hand.  "You want something from us and threaten us in the same breath? I do not know if I should call that bold or just... stupid..."

In a fraction of an instant, Arno grabbed the society member by his Cravate and let him crack his back hard against the outside of the café. He knew there were no guards nearby and no one in the cafe was willing to intervene. His voice continued to rumble noticeably.  "Listen to me, Monsieur, and I advise you not to interrupt me. There are people out there, crossing my ways in a very negative way. And I repeat, they declare their actions in the name of Lady Eve. They captured one of my Assassin sisters, arresting her and doing who knows what with her. I'm angry, exhausted and unwilling to continue engaging in any games. So bring me to someone in your society who can decide responsibly. Or I will work out my way there by cutting through countless throats. Your choice... Monsieur."

Again, fear mingled with the anger of his counterpart. But finally, Monsieur Moreau nodded. Arno smiled gently and let the elder go. Politely, he stepped back and sideways before following the wordlessly Moreau on his heels out of the cafe.

The access they use this time was not the one Arno could remember. At that time they had refrained from blindfolding him. Apparently they were aware of his gift. The same was true for today's visit. Only the "guards" accompanying him became more in number. One or the other with a drawn weapon, but most with only hands close to the holsters.

Arno periodically spread his senses to capture the size of the catacombs. He even began to feel that his radius actually seemed to have widened a bit. But down here, that could be fooling too.

They let him wait. In a kind of anteroom which opened like a dome upwards, without really making a connection to the outside world. Funnily, in the middle of this little "hall" was a rippling fountain. Whoever the architect was behind that, it somehow witnessed some kind of humor.

Arno knew and felt that he was unwelcome. Not just because they did not offer him coffee. So it did not surprise him that his inner impatience breathed a sigh of relief when Monsieur Moreau finally returned and nodded silently at the Assassin to follow him.

The people waiting for him in the adjoining room were all completely unknown to him. But this did not matter to Arno here and now. Greeting and politely he nodded in the round and sat down on the chair offered at the long table.

As in the sanctuary, the room was crammed with bookshelves. Each free wall space was used for cards, each free table for more books. The atmosphere was depressing in one way, and on the other, it was almost inviting to rummage and investigate. Arno's gaze remained briefly interested in a large map that apparently depicted Egypt. Did the society nevertheless have anything to do with Napoléon and Joséphine? Or do they simply continued to follow the path of the artifact?

"So, Monsieur Dorian. We were told that you asked for a meeting in your inimitable... charming way. Why? What do you want from us? "

Arno turned his eyes to the white-haired man who sat opposite him at the table, concentrating on those present. Monsieur Moreau leaned against one of the bookcases behind the white-haired man and frowned. Next to the person who spoke to him was a young woman whose age Arno could not really judge. Nor of the young man, who supported himself with his hands behind the woman on the back of her chair. Since the white-haired was the speaker, the Assassin turned to him with a polite smile.

"That's right, I have. It is about several people who crossed my paths and claimed for their actions to act in the name of Lady Eve. As I already informed Monsieur Moreau, among other things, this resulted in the capture of a brotherhood sister. And before we initiate any further action here..."  Arno deliberately paused, carefully considering his following words, before he decided to really use them. He got up from his chair, put his hands on the table and leaned a bit forward.  "...I just wanted to know... what the hell the society is thinking of providing protection and shelter to such obviously insane people as Joséphine and her ladies?"  It only fuelled his anger that the white-haired man remained so obviously calm, as well as the woman and the younger man. Only Moreau drew his pistol.

"We found out that they are pumping our sister with strange substances and who knows what crazy things they do to her. And all this, apparently, solely to get at the artifact. Regarding what we all agreed at the time, choosing to send it to Cairo was not the stupidest decision. What the hell has changed in your society since then that you now give such people a free hand?"

Arno did not raise his voice, did not have to. Even though the anger in him groaned and moaned and longed for a valve. All mature in him knew that this was neither the right time nor the best frame for it. It therefore remained with a venomous growl of his voice and the tense posture.

The white-haired man remained silent until he could be sure that Arno had finished his speech. Polite, he pointed again to the chair.  "Please, Monsieur Dorian, sit down. There is absolutely no reason to threaten anyone in this room. We are not your enemies. Back then, we were not and even today we are not as well. If we can help, we will gladly do so."

Arno straightened up, but refused to sit down. With folded arms, he vented his inner tension by pacing up and down, resting his questioning gaze on the old man. The elder sighed softly and put his clasped hands on the table.

"So please, Monsieur Dorian. Now completely calm and from the beginning. Who are you talking about and what exactly is this about?"

Arno rubbed his forehead in annoyance and also sighed softly. But he realized that this man, here and now, might not actually know anything. All the more, he wondered to what extent he would be able to help him in his search for answers. He gave a brief but complete account of what had happened to his listeners since Adeláire first appeared in the café. He concluded with the failed exchange and even described some of the words Adeláire had given him last. Those words that have been rumbling in his head, much worse deep in his heart, and piercing with nagging questions. Afterwards there was silence, which dragged painlessly on Arno’s nerves. He finally stood tensely before the table and waited silently.

It was again the old man who began to speak.  "Thank you, Monsieur Dorian. I now understand and feel your anger more clearly."  He glanced at the young woman next to him, which she seemed to allow with a nod. In a quiet tone, the old man continued.  "Unfortunately, we cannot really offer you an explanation for all this. Neither Joséphine nor Napoléon belong to our society. None of us knows anything about these matters. And we're pretty sure these... people... are not acting on behalf of Lady Eve. You were fooled about that."

Once again, Arno rubbed his aching forehead and felt anger and frustration forming a solid, inextricable knot in his stomach.  "Who the hell are these people then? And what is behind all this?"

Silence entered the round again as the three on the other side of the table exchanged glances. Until the end, the young woman nodded again, and this time even addressed the word to Arno.  "The only thing we can offer you, Monsieur Dorian, is research. However, this will take a little time. Are you able to muster so much patience?"

Arno's eyes briefly surveyed the men in the room and finally studied the young woman more intensively. Her features were smooth, her honey-blond hair turned into a loose bun at the back of her head. The clothing was more reminiscent of that of a young man, hiding everything feminine. The most intriguing thing about her, however, were the amber eyes.

Still silent, Arno nodded to the question asked to formulate one in his turn. "How long does ‘a little time’ define itself?"

The woman smiled gently up at him without taking her eyes off him. It almost felt like she could look him in the soul. And find something there that she thought was worthwhile.

"Unfortunately we cannot say that exactly, Monsieur Dorian. We strive to return with results as soon as possible. Meanwhile show us the honour of hospitality. Monsieur Moreau will show you rooms in which you can rest a little."

Rest. The last thing Arno wanted right now. He greedily craved a hard, honest fight followed by warm arms and thighs around... Energetic, he pulled himself together and pushed the memory, which now seemed like from another life, aside. Silently he followed Moreau, who stubbornly did not change another word with him.

Arrived in said premises, Arno actually allowed himself to lay down his weapons and let himself sink to the edge of the bed. He felt his eyes burn as he dug his fists into them with a deep-seated growl. He stifled the desperately angry scream that had been hiding in his throat for days, finally dropping his hands. In helpless idleness he rested his elbows on his knees, stared blindly to the ground, and felt quietly behind his heartbeat.

_> >Arno... please... save yourself... this fight is already lost...<<_

Silently, his lips formed her name before he began massaging his temples with his eyes closed. He knew the time would come when he would have to be clear about his feelings. Just like her. But for the moment, everything was a chaotic tangle of words, deeds, actions that he still could not really bring into the continuity of a relationship.

Like a brief flash of lightning announcing the approaching thunderstorm, a memory appeared in his mind's eye. Monsieur de la Serre, who called him to take place at his secretary’s desk in his own study room. Monsieur de la Serre, who implanted for the first time the idea, to clear his feelings and to gasp the grief by writing letters to his recently deceased father. With a serene smile, Arno rose from the edge of the bed and headed for the door.

As expected, Monsieur Moreau stood before this quasi guard. His eyes were still bleak, but he silently nodded at Arno's question for pen, ink, and paper. In fact, it did not take him long until Arno could sit down at the table in the room and stare silently at the blank paper for a few breaths. For a moment he closed his eyes in the way he always did just before he activated his senses and imagined a calming sea. Mindful, he dipped his pen in the ink as he opened his eyes again and began to write.

_Père,_

_it has been a long time since I found an opportunity to write to you. I'm sorry that I let you wait so long. But I'm sure you know what happened. And I'm also sure that you know that I still miss you and that you will never lose your place in my heart._

_Once again, so much depends on me and my choices. I had really begun to believe that these times were over for me. That I finally managed to find a way for my life, with which I could find something like balance. But then this woman came into my life and the chaos is coming back again._

_I know it was my very own decision to help her. I still stand by what I said to her back then. I feel responsible for the whereabouts of the artifact. It was me who brought it to light. How many times have I wished I had left it in this temple, hoping that no one else would ever find the solution to the opening puzzle. But once again I was young, stupid and arrogant and believed that if I could bring it to safety, it would be better for everyone involved._

_The consequences of the decision at that time? The woman, who has come too close to me in this too short time, is in danger. And I feel once again a decision between sanity and emotion heading towards me. And I do not know if I've really become so much cleverer, wiser, to make the right decision this time._

_I do not want to quarrel with my fate, nor do I want to blame a non-existent, higher power for the injustice that it constantly does to me. I know very well that my fate is influenced only by myself and my decisions. But is it wrong to wish for some leadership? The one or the other time not to be on your own with pursuing a particular path?_

_I do not even know if it’s really love that I feel for this woman. It does not feel like it was with Élise. It is… different. They are both so similar. And yet so different in many basic things. I loved Élise from the moment she lured me out of this chair in Versailles. It's different with Adeláire. ‘She’… is different. And so are my feelings for her. Which makes it all the harder for me to find out what nature they really are. All I know is that I do not want everything to happen again._

_Papa, I can’t do that. I will not make it again. Losing everything and then just keep going. I cannot and do not want to. It just costs so much power. And I do not think I'll be able to raise these again. But what does that mean in its complete consequence? Never again let anyone allow to get close to me? Never love anyone again... (or be allowed to)?_

_How much I wish you were here now ..._

_Arno_

 

He had indeed found a little sleep and decided after the wake up to use the opportunities of the extensive library and distract himself with their content. Accordingly, he looked up from his book and coffee when Monsieur Moreau approached him.

"They wish to see you."

Arno smiled politely and stood up to follow the still gruff Moreau. The congregation that had first spoken to him was expecting him again. Again, the white-haired acted as a speaker.

"Monsieur Dorian, welcome. We have news for you that will hopefully help in your cause."

Arno felt something like relief spreading through him. Although hope always died last, he was glad that this time she seemed to be fulfilled.

"I am all ears, Monsieur."

The white-haired man smiled politely and after a confirming nod from the amber-eyed woman, he began to talk.  "Well, as we correctly guessed, Joséphine and Napoléon are not part of our society. In addition, they are more likely to be considered as... apostates."

Arno frowned.  "Again? Well, how very refreshing. Why does that only remind me of what happened in the Templar Order back then?”  Arno folded his arms over his chest as he decided to wait further after this comment. The older one registered this gesture and seemed to appreciate it.

"We told you about the technologies of the 21st century at our last encounter. That there will be people who will be empowered to relive the lives of previous generations through the eyes of their ancestors. To watch, to witness. But what they never could was to take control or even change the course of history."  The old man paused and did not seem to know how to clarify the following. The young woman took the decision from him and went on.

"This has recently changed, Monsieur Dorian. A technique has been developed that allows you to immerse yourself in every previous life. Regardless of whether it is an ancestor in the own bloodline. For our society, this means that Lady Eve has entered the changing tide. This has even more far-reaching consequences for you."

Arno slowly lost the thread of understanding for what he was told. Had all of this been surreal and insane at the first meeting, it had not really changed much in all the years since. Frowning, he kept silent and listened.

The young woman smiled gently.  "I can imagine how hard it is for you to follow all this and believe it. But this time it is not only important that you listen to us, acquiesce and grant us to do so. You must understand, Monsieur Dorian. The tides of fortunes have changed. And we have to make sure that the right people are holding the reins."  The young woman got up from the chair and began to wander up and down to explain further.

"This technology, of which I have just spoken, changes the conditions of the timestream. And worst of all, she was stolen. And unnoticed. A splinter group of our society has come into possession of Lady Eve's technology in the 21st century and abuses it for its own purposes. They have fallen into the ideology of acting in the true name of Eve by changing the technology."  The young woman stopped and fixated the Assassin.  "Not only are they independent of their ancestral bloodline, they are also capable of altering the actions of those through whose eyes they look."  She let the words sink into consciousness, apparently waiting for a response from her opposite.

Arno studied the amber look intensely. He tried to bring what he heard into a logical sequence and to link it with the events. What had all this to do with him, Adeláire and Joséphine?  "I am sorry. I do not really understand…"

The young woman smiled gently and sat back down in her seat. She folded her slim hands and laid them on the table.  "What I want to express with that, Monsieur Dorian is that the people you know as Joséphine Bonaparte and their girls are not Joséphine and her girls. They are 21st-century people who have the ability to take over, manipulate, and change their actions throughout history in this century."

This time it was up to Arno to rise and start moving up and down. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his forehead and tried to recapitulate.  "Just so I understand it correctly, you want to tell me that these... persons are not who they should actually be. And that the deeds committed by them should not actually be committed by them? And that at worst they could change the entire course of history?"

The young woman nodded.  "In the worst case ... yes. That's exactly how it is Monsieur Dorian. Therefore, this time it is even more important that you understand all this and not just take it, push it aside and forget it again. This is going to be a much more important battle than you can possibly imagine right now. These people have to be eliminated."  A brief silence moved into the room, which was finally broken again by the young woman.  "And who could be better suitable for something like that... than an Assassin..."

Arno stopped his walk and turned to the people at the table. The amber eyes smiled with all the warmth available to her. The young man behind her eyed him calmly and silently. The old man's look was interested. Everything in Arno screamed and rebelled. He clearly felt his reluctance and he could see that his counterparts could see it as well.

"All I want to do is to throw that damned artifact into Hell's Maw and free my... sister. I have no interest in being involved in a war of which I do not even understand its meaning. All these curiosities have already cost me and my life enough. So, thank you… but, no thank you. I'm the wrong person for that."  He could clearly hear pain, anger and disgust in his voice. Every instinct in him drove the Assassin out of these halls. Nevertheless, he let the young woman speak again.

"It's too late for that, Monsieur Dorian. You are already in the middle of this war. And we're afraid your... sister is too."

Arno felt ice cold freeze him. His voice seemed unusually powerless.  "What... do you mean by that?"

Grief moved through the amber.  "That your sister probably is not herself anymore. As she has already tried to tell you. Presumably, she has also been taken over and is now controlled by someone from the 21st century."

The ice cold in Arno gave way to a leaden feeling of helplessness and failure. He leaned heavily on the chair and laid his arms feebly on the table. Silently, he stared at the table top for several breaths before a slender hand grabbed his and made his gaze return to hers.

"We can help her, Monsieur Dorian. But for that you have to get her out of there first. And you will only be able to so, if you engage in this fight and this war. And if you know exactly what you're dealing with."  She smiled warmly again.  "Even if all this is not really knowledge that an 18th century Assassin should endure. And I am truly sorry that we must impose this burden on you, Monsieur Dorian."

Arno raised his free hand again and rubbed his eyes. He could make out clearly how the burden of it all weighed too much for him. His emotions clearly wanted to get away from here, to have nothing to do with all this. Forget everything and return to something simpler.

Simpler? What was simple? His life so far definitely had not been. Silently he repeated the gazing of the table top and felt the resigned surrender to this larger cause.

Mutedly he closed his eyes and nodded silently. His voice sounded tired at the following question.  "All right, as you want. What else do I need to know and how do we best continue?"

It was the young man who had never spoken before, who answered.  "First of all, we must first determine if you really are 'yourself,' Monsieur Dorian."

Arno raised his eyes to the young man and the seriousness in his expression immediately activated all the alarm mechanisms in the Assassin. He quietly withdrew his hand from the young woman's.  "And what, if that is not the case...?"

The young man straightened up during Monsieur Moreau drew his gun behind him.  "Then, Monsieur Dorian, so sorry we are, you will not leave these halls alive. The knowledge just shared with you is far too important to fall into the wrong hands."

Slowly and menacingly, the Assassin rose from the chair and the metallic snarl of the extending blade cut through the room.  "Good luck with the attempt,” Arno said, grudgingly.

The young man sighed softly.  "I had hoped that we could make this easier here. But good, unfortunately that must be happening."  With which his opponent lifted his left arm and stretched out a golden glowing palm of his hand towards Arno.

Before the Assassin could even move a muscle, he solidified in a jumped stance as if frozen in ice. His breathing was steady, if too hectic. The ice seemed to penetrate through his clothes, his skin, to the core, where it met with rebel fire and showed itself unimpressed.

The young man circled the table and approached Arno. The golden-glowing palm drew nearer to his temple. Instinctively, Arno could sense how everything in him wanted to retreat from this glow and could not. When fingerprints touched his temples unexpectedly softly, he was almost glad that his voice seemed as frozen as his entire body. Unbelievable pain shot through him and seemed to tear him apart. He felt something searching penetrate him and wanted to turn his inner-most outward. Protective, he tried to throw himself over memories which should not concern anyone but him. He felt like the little 8-year-old boy in Versailles back then, who found his dead father and felt compelled to protect himself and his feelings from all these strange eyes.

Breathing hard and panting, trembling and powerless like a newborn, Arno finally sank to the edge of the table and barely kept himself from mutating into a pile of misery on the floor. Growling, groaning, he braced himself on his feet and wished he had enough strength to go at his opponent's throat.

Those drew at that moment a ring from his finger, which disappeared inside his coat with a soft, golden afterglow.  "He is clean. Nobody looks through his eyes."

It was the amber eyes that appealed to him reassuringly.  "Please, Monsieur Dorian, sit down and recover from this unfortunately necessary intervention. We are very sorry, but the use of this artifact is unfortunately the only way to find out if someone is himself or not. And sadly, as you have discovered, it is relatively painful."

Heavy Arno let himself sink down into his chair and rubbed his hands over his eyes. His voice growled as he answered.  "Painful is an understated expression. I would be grateful to everyone involved if we did not repeat this again."

"Very well, Monsieur Dorian," came from the old man, "since we have now decided that you are really yourself, we have the following offer for you. We provide you with someone who will accompany and support you on your further journey. Which gives you access to all the information and resources of our society. And hopefully together we can do what each of us alone cannot handle. How does this sound to you?"

Arno dropped his hands and looked around. He sensed that he did not have the slightest idea what he was really getting into. But something told him that this was his best option. Finally, he nodded silently and sank back on the chair. Significantly a vehement headache announced itself.

"I do not know about you, Mesdames et Messieurs, but I think a coffee would be absolutely great."

Arno let the society dedicate himself deeper to their knowledge. Even though he would never admit it to himself or anyone else, most of the time he understood only half of what they were trying to get him to understand. It was the woman with the amber eyes, which was called Juliette, how he was allowed to experience, which often brought some light into the darkness in one of the breathing pauses.

"We know that this is a lot of information that we put to you here within too short a time, Monsieur Dorian. But we also know that you are well aware of how important all this is here. And... we grant you an immense leap of faith."

Arno leaned his back against one of the bookshelves as he drove tiredly through his face with both hands.  "I am well aware of that. It is completely beyond my understanding of where this trust comes from, but right now I'm desperate enough to simply accept it."  He could clearly hear his that voice sounded tired, too.

A gentle, tender hand lay on his upper arm and he devoted his attention to the young woman. He enjoyed the soft light of her smile.  "You do not have to despair. We will support you as best we can. Even if we are not your brotherhood, we still know what we are doing. And we'll get your... sister... out of there." The warmth of her smile clearly conveyed that she knew very well that Adeláire was more than "just" a brotherhood sister. But she just left it that way.

The attention of his company was diverted from him when an unknown young man approached Juliette and whispered something in her ear. She nodded silently and turned back to the Assassin.  "It seems you have a visitor, Monsieur Dorian."

Arno raised his eyebrows in surprise and pushed away from the bookcase to follow Juliette into the dome-like hall with the fountain.  "I cannot imagine who..."  He got his answer as he stepped out into the open along with the young woman at his side, breathing in fresh Versailles air for the first time since his arrival in the secret halls.

"Arno!" the familiar voice of the boy reached his ear.

"Léon, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you have stayed with Verne and Jean?" The boy looked excited and ignored all the strange people who eyed him suspiciously.  "And how the hell did you find me here?"

Léon grinned mischievously at Arno.  "You know, I always find a way."

Monsieur Moreau joined the three, with his eyes still grim, even after days.  "He asked around the place if anyone saw a man in a blue coat and hood. At some point he stumbled over one of our own."

"I did not stumble. I did research. The way you do it as an Assassin when you want to find someone."  Léon tried to give himself the appearance of experience and knowledge that he obviously did not have both.

Inside, Arno smirked softly, and outward he folded his arms in disapproval, staring at the boy gloomily.  "So, Léon, again the question; what are you doing here?"

The boy tried to look serious.  "Verne and Jean sent me. Napoléon arrived in Malmaison and is now well informed about everything that Joséphine did while he was away. He's met with Verne and Jean and lets you know he wants the artifact back."

Arno swore softly and cautiously.  "Merde, he noticed it damn fast. I was hoping we would have gained some more time. However, it was probably assumed that Joséphine would be able to quickly expose the copy."

Leon flapped his hands excitedly. He obviously had more to tell.  "He's ready to trade it for Adeláire... or other terms you should call him. The handover will take place sometime and -where in Paris. He left immediately after the meeting. Well, that's why I'm here. Verne and Jean rode straight to Paris to inform the Council and the others. They are waiting for you there."

Arno frowned thoughtfully, starting to pace up and down as he always did when he thought.  "This is not a very pleasant development of circumstances. By no means should the artifact fall into the hands of such a power-hungry man as Napoléon. No one can guess what damage he is doing with it. But I cannot refuse the exchange. To get Adeláire out there I have nothing else in the repertoire that could interest Napoléon. And I doubt we can do our failed exchange trick with him more successfully."

Arno paused in his thoughtful speech as Juliette cleared her throat softly. "Well, maybe it's not determined, that Napoléon does _not_ … receive this artifact."

Arno blinked down at the young woman in confusion.  "He ... I’m sorry, what?"

Juliette smiled gently.  "Well, you must not forget, Monsieur Dorian, our society, and therefore me too, knows history, which has not been written here and now. Certainly, already in our century. This country and Europe are preceded by wild and confused years. And Napoléon will play a key role in that. He will achieve what he always wanted. His name will go down in history for eternity. Therefore, it may not be the will of the tide-stream that you deprive him of the artifact. Maybe you would completely change the course of history if you do. And maybe it's just important to steal it again at the right time."

Arno could clearly feel the wave of confusion and overreach threatening to collapse over him. He felt like a drowning man who could not see any land right now.

"Arno... what... what is the lady talking about? I... do not understand a single word..." a rather confused Léon said from behind him.

Arno smiled gently and vented his tension by driving the boy through the tangled hair.  "You're not alone with that Léon. I even can only hope that I understand more and more over time. But for the moment we have to go back to Paris. Time to plan a transfer according to our conditions."

The glow in Leon's eyes as he looked up at him and silently nodded, revealing something of joy and security deep in Arno. There had not been much in his life in recent years, about which he allowed himself a touch of pride. But the development of this boy, for those he granted himself this weakness.

Already thinking about further planning, the Assassin packed his few possessions and set out with Léon to leave the catacombs of the society and with that, Versailles too. It took control to not look surprised when Juliette joined them. Apparently, it was she who were the considered "support" of the society for their plans. And Arno was certainly the last person who questioned a woman's abilities in these crazy times.

 

 


	20. Something ends...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finale of that Story... nothing more to say, i think :-)  
> Oh, maybe one thing. A little writing-experiment. Trying to tell the Story out of three different PoV. Hope you enjoy :-)

\---------- Paris, Sanktuarium of the Assassin‘s, November 1799 _\-----_

 

 

Arno simply did not feel very comfortable in the "hallowed halls" of the Assassins. He was grateful that this time around he was able to enjoy the protection of his hood, and he was trying hard to restrain his shoulders defensively. He breathed two or three times before leaving the dim light of the corridor leading to the entrance hall. Like last time, his eyes flickered briefly uncomfortably to the passage between the two sweeping foothills of the stairs leading up to the council chambers. The last time his footsteps had taken him straight was followed by exile from the Brotherhood.

The hall was empty, Arno alone. Determined, he steered his steps upward, always taking two steps at a time. The familiar voices of his friends reached his ear from the left. Accordingly, he turned off, navigating around the massive globe in the middle of the room, half open to the corridor. The three councilors had gathered with Verne, Francesco, Jean and Ahmad around the table, which was always used for such larger meetings. When he arrived, different looks turned to him. Not all of them left Arno overly relaxed.

"Monsieur Dorian, very pleased that you join us. We're running out of time and the sooner we can fix our plans, the better." Master Quemar's voice was neutral. If he evaluated the past events in any way, he did not show it.

Arno bowed politely and ignored the offer to sit down. For the moment he preferred the freedom of movement. Only after another moment of prolonged silence did he force himself to look Master Trenet in the eye. Visibly she controlled herself emotionally. Nevertheless, the younger man could see the anxious thoughts which probably had to haunt her. So he was not surprised in the least by her subsequent address.

"I need to speak privately to Monsieur Dorian. Please excuse us for a moment, gentlemen.“ She stood and rounded the table, then gestured Arno for her to follow. None of his friends even hinted to give up keeping a straight face.

Master Trenet strove into the half-open room at the end of the corridor, which through floor-to-ceiling windows opened the view into the sanctum of the sanctuary. Silently, she took a few breaths looking down through them until she turned to the waiting Arno. He took the floor before she could start.

"Master Trenet, I'm sincerely sorry, really. I could not keep my word and I disappointed you. Once again. And this time, I even put somebody in danger who is close to you. If I had any words that could make up for it or even undo it, I would choose them. An apology does not only seem to me more than inadequate. And the Council probably did well to expel me from the Order. But... I... it..."

He could not think of anything more, what he might have been able to tell her. All the guilt and burden he had carried with him since leaving Adeláire behind had made him hang his head and shoulders. Helpless, he raised his hands as if he wanted to wrestle with an opponent. And he almost flinched when Master Trenet's slender hands grabbed his.

"Just tell me she's still alive and that she's fine." Master Trenet's voice sounded brittle.

Arno raised his eyes towards the Master's, which had been a foster mother to Adeláire for all these past few years. It constricted his heart, to have to read all the pain in her features. And sensed, that he was mirroring that. He nodded silently before swallowing and answering.  "The last time I saw her, she was alive. Whether safe and sound, I can not say. Her words sounded like agony. But I do not know what kind. I... had her hand in mine. But... something about our plan went wrong. I... she... was just gone. It... I'm so sorry..."

This time, Arno actually jerked a little surprised as Master Trenet built a familiarity like never before. She gently put her hand to his cheek and lifted his eyes from his hands to her view. Pain and warmth smiled at him as she spoke.

"Monsieur Lemoine has already taught us what has happened. You could not have done anything different. It was to let a brother die or leave a sister to an unknown fate. I can only imagine how hard such a decision would have to be for you. Once again. And I regret that you have been forced to go through this suffering. You have not disappointed us... me... You have acted to the best of my knowledge and belief. And even according to the guidelines of our Credo."

A renewed smile seemed reassuring, before it changed into something combative.  "And now let's think about how we can get Adeláire out of it and how we can do it without having to hand over the artifact to Napoléon."

Arno returned the smile gently and briefly, before he caught in the thought.  "For that matter, I have additional information that we should consider. Please allow a guest to join our round."

Master Trenet stepped back from him, indicating that they should go back to the others. Arno kept pace with her as he explained.  "I came across a society that has extraordinary knowledge and resources. Our guest accompanied me from Versailles and waits upstairs with Madame Gouche."

Master Trenet nodded and beckoned to a young Assassin who sorted cards at the other end of the globe-room.  "Go upstairs to the cafe and convey Madame Gouche to send Monsieur Dorian's guest downstairs."

Arno noticed the young woman's appalling gaze a bit confused, which she gave him after a respectful bow to Master Trenet. Frowning, he decided not to react. This time he accepted the invitation of the chair and settled down between Verne and Francesco.

"All right, gentlemen, what do we have and what ideas are there for how we should proceed further?" Master Trenet seemed completely composed again and looked around demandingly.

It was Ahmad who first broke the silence.  "Personally, I think what we all agree on is that this artifact should return to Cairo the quickest way. Under no circumstances it should fall into the hands of anyone like Napoléon. Therefore…"

Arno cleared his throat audibly, hoping to have chosen one of the least rude interruption methods.  "In this regard, there is new information. However, I would like to wait for the guest, who has accompanied me here from Versailles. She can certainly explain some things better and more understandably than I can."  Thinking briefly of his next following words, he glanced around.  "In addition, I believe there is more than one person in this room who is unwilling to leave our sister in the hands of Napoleon and Joséphine any longer. And the only thing we have to offer in exchange is the artifact. "

Arno raised his dark gaze to Ahmad and knew that at the moment all the stubbornness, to which he felt empowered, was to read in it. And that was exactly what was going on in him. If the liberation of Adeláire meant they had to give up the artifact for the moment, then it would be so. And it would also be the case afterwards that he would personally devote himself to wresting the artifact from Napoléon. Whether with the help of the secret society or without. Whether with the Brotherhood of the Assassins or without. This artifact was his responsibility. And he had both realized and assumed that he would not easily escape that responsibility again.

Strangely enough, everyone present in the room was silent, and the novices at the other end of the globe were also quiet. It felt to Arno that he and Ahmad were having a silent conversation that nobody else in the room perceived. And maybe that was really the case. If so, Ahmad leaned back in his chair with a disapproving snort.  "You are blind with emotion and forget about what is really important to the well-being of thousands. What do you think Napoléon will do with the artifact? Correct. He will carry it like a standard in his conquering delusion and want to tear down the structures of our time. Is the life of your... sister... really worth that much?"

Arno's hand, which had been lying relaxed on the table at the beginning of Ahmad's speech, closed into a fist. There was pain in his voice as he answered.  "Once in my life, I was guided only by emotions, guilt and love. I can guarantee you, I do not intend to repeat these experiences."  No one in the room stirred a muscle. Each of them knew about the deep pain. Even the Council. Arno looked up at Ahmad again.  "Nonetheless, it does not change the circumstances. We have nothing to offer Napoléon but the artifact in exchange for Adeláire. And if we continue to keep her in captivity, then I and the Assassin Brotherhood continue to have their hands tied. He would have more than effective leverage to keep us out of his actions. This would paralyze us more in the long term than anything else."

Ahmad's features became hard and almost merciless.  "Then it is time for your sister to follow the Levantine way and sacrifice herself for the greater whole. She's an Assassin, like all of us. She should know what she has to do."

A more predictable tumult broke out on this statement. It puzzled Arno that it made him feel like deadly cold, and he seemed to quietly conduct a silent, wild, hard discussion with Ahmad while the storm raged around them. Arno registered his hand near the throwing knife on the opponent's belt. And he knew that Ahmad was equally clear that it would only take a turn of his wrist to send one of the slender phantom blades on its way.

It was finally Master Trenet who brought peace to the chaos.  "Gentlemen, calm down, please. We are here to find solutions. And not to disagree and bring peace to the wrong people."

This actually led to Verne and Francesco sitting down again and silencing, both of them with similarly furious facial expressions. Arno clearly relaxed his posture and opened his clenched fist. Ahmad behaved similarly.

"Monsieur Ahmad, I think I speak in the interest of everyone present when I highly recommend you return to Cairo. You have done your best to support us in this case. But this is now an internal matter of the French Brotherhood."  Master Trenet's voice sounded inflexible and matched her upright posture. There was no doubt that this was a polite but emphatic expulsion.

Ahmad dropped his gaze from Arno and lowered him briefly in silence, sighing softly. "As you wish. I will inquire about the next ship and hope to use the Brotherhood‘s accommodation for so long."

Master Trenet nodded in agreement.  "Of course. We never show the door to a brother."

Ahmad acknowledged this with a thin smile, barely visible through his beard, rose and bowed in his foreign manner in the round.  "May Allah be with you. With you all."  With these words he turned to leave and left the circle.

It took a moment in which everyone seemed to remember the central topic. It was Verne who resumed the thread.  "So, what do we want to do? Just go to Napoléon's townhouse, knock and say ‘Hello‘?"

It was Master Beyllier who responded.  "We probably would not have much success with that. Naploéon is in the middle of a coup attempt with Sieyès. The Government of the Governing Board is overwhelmed by the economic and military difficulties in the country. There is a threat of a coup d'etat by the royalists, who smell their chance. Sieyès and Napoléon met here in Paris in mid-October after his return from Egypt and certainly pinned their plans. We do not know exactly what they are up to. But the assumptions are obvious that they want to establish a new form of government. That could also be the reason why Napoléon has not yet sent us the time and place of a meeting."

Arno crossed his arms thoughtfully.  "That suits the information Adeláire received from Bissot back then. And that Sieyès was on Joséphine's soiree."

Master Trenet nodded in silence.  "That was why we had her on him. Events are coming to an end and we expect Sieyès and Napoléon to act soon."

"It will happen on the 18th Brumaire.” A pleasantly calm voice said from behind Arno. He did not have to turn to Juliette to know it was her.

Polite, like all the other men in the room, he rose from his chair and offered it to Juliette.  "May I introduce our guest. Juliette de la Tour, leading member of a secret society on behalf of Lady Eve. What that means I’m sure she can explain it best herself,” Arno politely introduced her to the Assassins.

Juliette gave a friendly smile and raised her hand defensively.  "Please, not necessary that you all introduce yourselves. I know who you are, what you do and what your tasks are. And regarding my... secret society... for the moment only so much. We know things and we have decided to help the Brotherhood. And I hope you are all willingly to accept this help."

Six confused pairs of eyes first looked at the woman with the amber eyes and then fixed themselves questioningly to the only Assassin in the room, which actually also did not really belong to them. Arno glanced over his friends, over the council, and came to rest at Master Trenet.  "I trust this woman and the society she represents. However, I do not stand for the Brotherhood. This decision can only be made by you, by the Council. "

Master Trenet studied Arno closely, intensely. Eventually, she actually seemed to make that required decision. She sat down on a chair, folded her hands, and set them down on the table.  "All right Mademoiselle de la Tour, what do you know and how can that help us?"

Juliette initiated the round of knowledge that each present wondered where this young woman got those from. But because of the more urgent needs, no one asked questions and just took this all for once. She talked about how Napoléon would be entrusted to the city of Paris and its security, while the five Directors of the current Directorate were persuaded to vacate their posts. How the coup plotter would explain to the people that the republic was threatened by "counterrevolutionaries and conspirators" supposedly on the verge of attack. And how one could bring about a strong leadership, desired by all, solely through an amendment of the constitution.

"The key moment for all of this will be at Saint-Cloud Castle. And this is where you should arrange a meeting with Napoléon. He will have neither time nor thought to unnecessarily prolong this matter. He has more important things to do."  The Assassins were buzzing, clearly recognizable by frowning and tense postures. Juliette smiled gently.  "Only downside here; the castle will be surrounded by his soldiers. So you should make sure that you arrive there as soon as possible."

Silence moved in as the young woman came to an end with her explanations. Confused and thoughtful looks were exchanged. Until finally Jean took the floor. "Phew, girl, not bad, what you have to show in knowledge. Knowledge of things that have not happened yet. Somehow this whole thing is getting… crazier..."

Juliette smiled gently at the distinctively older one.  "These are crazy times, Monsieur LaHache."  She winked.  "And they are not over soon."  Jean brewed his cheeks to this statement and leaned back in his chair.

"All right, simple thing,” Francesco finally said in a tidy tone, "We brief Napoléon about the meeting point and leave immediately. The castle is not too far away and we certainly find ways to set up the waiting on the spot. After all, it's only three days. We meet with him in the Gallery d'Apollon. The hall is big enough and has direct access to the garden. So if something goes wrong with the handover, we have at least a quick escape route to the outside. Even though the prospect of guards closing the castle is not very uplifting."  The youngest of the Assassins looked around thoughtfully.  "The question remains who of us participates and if we take support with us."

Master Trenet was somber. "You will definitely take support with you, Monsieur Marechal.  In addition, I will join myself in person."  This caused a renewed turmoil, but this time exclusively among the council members.

Arno exchanged glances with the others and saw his own concerns mirrored. He decided to speak, for he was the only one whom would be allowed some degree of disrespect.  "Excuse me, Master Trenet, I do not want to offend you. But do you really think that's a good idea? You have not been in the field for a long time and you may be far more… emotionally involved... than one of us."

Master Trenet's gaze was unyielding as she turned to Arno.  "That may be true. But for exactly that reason, I will join. We'll post Assassins on every roof, on every balcony, in every dark niche, and in every hiding place. If Napoléon has the idea of trying to outsmart us, he will have to do so with the greatest possible loss. We have been put on the short leash by his wife, and now by him, long enough. It's time that his mighty hold returns to where it belongs - to us."  Arno's objection that they merely exchanged it by handing over the artifact stopped Master Trenet with a raised hand.  "Everything else we worry about when Adeláire is back in the sanctuary."  Her gaze rested intensely in Arnos.  "I have the utmost confidence in you and your abilities Monsieur Dorian. There will be a solution. Subsequently."

Arno swallowed hard the lump that had formed in his throat at that moment. He rose supple from his chair, still holding Master Trenet's intense gaze. In quiet agreement, her and his posture tightened. In deferential Assassin-style, Arno finally bowed his head in front of the Master.

"Gentlemen. Put your equipment together. We follow Monsieur Marechal's proposal. The council takes care of the information to Napoléon, you turn your attention to the compilation of the right brothers and sisters. The leadership is been encumbered upon Monsieur Dorian."  Master Trenet looked around and finally nodded.  "You may go."

 

They had spent the rest of the day implementing the plans. Gathering equipment, stockpiling, packing bags, and finally selecting men and women who were willing to join this endeavor. The effective machinery of the French Brotherhood worked flawlessly and Arno did not just once had to confess quietly to himself how much he missed all this. For the first time in a very long time, he did not find it difficult to agree when Verne proposed that they should all obtain quarter in the Sanctuary.

Nevertheless, it was a short, almost sleepless night for Arno. As he rolled around in bed again and listened to the snores of his friends, he decided to get up. Quietly, he slipped into his pants and boots and sneaked out of the room without waking anyone up.

The sanctuary was never completely quiet and empty. Sometimes it seemed like the activity was just increasing at night. But this time it seemed different than normal. It was actually quiet. For quite a long time Arno did not meet anyone in the corridors. Without really a proper goal, he stroked through the darkness and noticed rather unconsciously that he steered his steps towards the sanctuary. It stopped him. Thoughtfully and hesitantly, he headed slowly toward the entrance hall. As he stepped out of the alley, his nerves seemed to tingle. Something was wrong here.

Arno stepped further into the hall and knew what had caught his attention. Two Assassins lay still at the entrance to the sanctuary between the two staircases. Hastily he joined them and crouched down to feel their pulse. They lived and were only unconscious.

"Merde, what's going on here,” Arno hissed softly to himself.

Painfully, he realized at that moment that he had taken absolutely none of his gear along. With a soft murmured apology, he used one of the unconscious brothers. Quickly but professionally, he strapped on his weapon belt and hidden blade, silently creeping on like the diffuse shadows inside the sanctuary.

The moment he spread his senses, Arno knew who was waiting for him. The two gifts met before the two men did. An intense déjà-vu thronged Arno when he was approached.

"Somehow I had guessed that you would be the one who found me here." Ahmad stood at the niche where the goblet was kept, the one Arno had drank from, before the council had accepted him into the Brotherhood. The Cairo brother turned his back on the French one.

"Ahmad, what are you doing here? Why are there two unconscious Assassins at the entrance?"  Arno's voice conveyed his mistrust and, in principle, his sense of knowing why the foreign brother had done so. As Ahmad turned around to him, the gloomy idea confirmed. A golden shimmer in his hand revealed his intentions.

"I'm sorry, Arno. How I would like to have familiarized you even more intensely in your gift. Show you what it is capable of, if you master it comprehensively. You may even have been shown how to master and use these artifacts without thousands having to suffer."

Arno’s sense of Déjà-vu became more and more intense and almost seemed to want to paralyze the air to breathe. The words that flashed through his mind that he had spoken on Saint Chapelle at the time got stuck in his throat.

"And I'm sorry to sacrifice your... lover... for the safety of this artifact."  Ahmad raised his eyes to the Assassin who was steady slowly approaching him.  "You are wrong to leave this artifact to Napoleon. And you fall into the trap of mistaken belief that you could decide where and when you would snatch it from him again. These... things... must be kept far away from humanity. And in Cairo, there are more than enough safe places for such matters."  Ahmad's gaze almost took on something pleading.  "I beseech you, Arno. Do not force me to have to fight my way back to Cairo."

Silently, Arno pulled the foreign rapier and extended the foreign hidden blade. This required no words, only deeds. As much as he would hate these, too. He tensely watched as Ahmad sighed and let the artifact disappear into his belt. Only the timely spread of his senses saved Arno from getting hit by the first throwing knives flying towards him. Almost simultaneously, the two Assassins dropped smoke bombs, hitting each other's senses to find their opponent in the swaths.

And Arno did it well. Smooth, he let himself fall and rolled away under an attack by Ahmad. Again, all this reminded him of the fight years ago against his mentor, Bellec. And it made bitter bile rise in his throat. Energetically he forced himself to concentration and focus. He had never fought Ahmad the entirety of their journey, so he could not assess his strength in the least. Accordingly, Arno classified him as highly dangerous for now.

A wild and with very precise skill equipped exchange of blows began. Arno broke out in a sweat and he could see that his counterpart was no different. Feint followed Feint. All the dirty tricks Bellec had ever taught him called Arno to deal with the situation. More or less unsuccessful. Secretly, he silently hoped that someone else had been as sleepless as he and would hear the noise of battle.

Groaning, the younger man evaded an attack of the foreign Assassin and felt its hidden blade carving his skin superficially. That was definitely too close. Before Arno could react with a smoke bomb, Ahmad had used one of his toys. Biting smoke made Arno's eyes water and cause a convulsive cough spread. Panting and staggering, he tried to gain distance from the area. Spreading his senses, he realized too late that his opponent had prevailed. Painfully, the handle of his saber landed on Arno's temple and sent him dazed to the ground.

"Stay down boy. I do not want to kill anyone, and especially not you."

Panting and coughing, Arno tried to get on his feet again.  "You should have… considered that… beforehand..."  He tried helplessly to get his view and senses clear.

"Then you did not want to have it otherwise. I'm sorry..."  Ahmad's voice was low, close. In reflex Arno pulled out the hidden blade and searched with his senses for the danger. He flinched violently as a pistol shot blared through the sanctuary. He was breathing, his heart pounding wildly, his head throbbing painfully, he was alive.

Confused, he tried to look around while the smoke of the attack bomb slowly evaporated. Groaning, he scrambled to his feet and looked down at a collapsed Ahmad. Blood spread over his back. Arno gruffly wiped over his watery eyes and searched the Sanctuary. What he found was the young Assassin, who had adored him in the morning. The pistol smoking in the trembling hand, her pale eyes wide with shock.

"He... he wanted..." the girl stuttered.

"Right, he wanted to kill me. And you prevented that. For which I am infinitely grateful."  Slowly, Arno stepped toward the shivering bundle of an Assassin in training. He remembered his first killing very well, and how violently sick he felt afterward. He lifted his arms reassuringly so as not to tempt her into another unwanted shot.

"Calm down. Everything’s going to be alright. What's your name?"  He spoke softly to her.

"Ma... Marie..." her gaze still hung on the dead man.

"Marie, a really nice name. I am Arno. And I will take this weapon from you now. Alright, Marie?"  Slowly and carefully Arno closed his hand around the barrel of the weapon and gently urged its direction away from him, which resulted in Marie looking at him and collapsing, still trembling.

She did not faint, apparently she was already well enough trained for that. But she was shaking like aspen leaves and seemed to be in shock. Arno embraced her, propped her up and talked calmly to her. Keeping her grip, she clung to him and reluctantly let go, as more Assassins finally sought the sanctuary.

Arno closed Ahmad’s eyes and took the artifact with a quiet murmured "Repose en paix". How many more would have to die for this shimmering piece of metal? Again and again, and certainly not for the last time, Arno wished he had never pulled that damn thing out of the catacombs.

 

 

\-------- Paris, Castle Saint-Cloud, 18. Brumaire / November 9th, 1799 _\----_

 

 

Master Trenet had kept her word. For 24 hours Assassins watched over the comings and goings in and around the meeting point with Napoléon. The arrival of the two chambers of the National Assembly was only observed in silence. The order was not to interfere in the course of the coup around Sieyés. The Council had decided that they would first observe further developments. Should the compelling circumstance arise that they would have to intervene, this would be done at a later date.

Arno felt uncomfortable as he stood waiting at one end of the Saloon d‘Apollo, hopefully invisible, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back. He knew perfectly well that all around him brothers and sisters covered his back. His gift did not need to grasp Verne and Jean beside him to know they were there and ready. Francesco had himself tactically cleverly positioned with the other snipers. Master Trenet silently waited in the shadows behind Arno.

Give Napoléon his due - he was punctual. Guards stormed the long-drawn saloon with muskets in their hands, which irritatingly intensely reminded Arno of the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. Determined, he pushed this memory aside. Here and today, it was not about Élise.

As the troop around Napoléon (who strived forward in his usual self-confident manner) approached, Arno spread his senses. He still could not capture Adeláire anywhere. Bonaparte stopped at a reasonable distance from him and assumed an attitude that Arno had already often noticed about him. One hand in the lapels of his coat, the other on his back.

"Thank you for being here, Arno."  Bonaparte let his eyes wander.  "And with so many of your... friends. I did not know you were part of the Brotherhood again. Didn‘t you want to renounce all this and lead a more peaceful life?"  Something glittered amused and at the same time dangerous at his vis-à-vis.  "Especially after... Franciade?"

Arno clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe in a controlled manner.  "Are we really here to fraternize? I think, especially you have a lot more important things to do now, am I right?"

Napoléon actually smiled nonchalantly at the statement and took a few steps closer, motioning his soldiers to stay behind.  "That's probably how it is, though. All the more, I am interested in getting over with this miserable affair as quickly as possible."  He took further steps toward Arno until they were only two arm-lengths apart.  "And I sincerely apologize to you."

Arno blinked in surprise and did not know for a moment how to react. Napoleón introduced his statement with a descriptive gesture.  "You are not my enemy. You never were. Even if I really just wanted to have you shot. Back then. In Franciade. You understand that for sure."

Arno elicited a joyless smile.  "Of course. Who would not understand that?"

Napoléon began to wander up and down slowly, as it was often Arno’s style when he was thinking about something.  "Well, you see. And you know, I sometimes incline to… temperamental outbursts... like when I arrived on the coast. And yet I still do not declare you my enemy."  Bonaparte paused, looking at the figure in Arno's shadow.  "Nor is the Brotherhood."

Arno did not even have to spread his senses to know that Master Trenet stepped into the light a bit more visibly in response to those words. Napoléon curtly and politely bowed his head before turning back to Arno.  "What seems to have happened in Malmaison should never have happened. My wife has run riot… a bit… in her eagerness and with her ambitions. Hence my will to apologize."

Arno's voice was squeezed with restrained emotions.  "Did you offer this to Adeláire as well?"

Napoléon actually gave him something like a rueful look before he pulled his hand out of the lapel and flicked his fingers, as if to symbolize a flash of thought.  "You know, this woman is really a mystery to me. She seems to be fine. And then, the next moment, she's about to have a nervous breakdown. And I really cannot say with certainty what she has experienced. Unfortunately, Joséphine did not want to tell me anything else."

Arno inclined his head a whiff and felt his hands clench into fists again. Hiding this, he crossed them behind his back.  "Believe me, we'll find out."  He gulped down the rest of the sentence, which merely would have sounded like a threat.

Bonaparte really dared to do donned something like a helpful facial expression.  "If I can help you somehow, money, doctors, just let me know. Even though I was not even in the country I feel somehow… responsible..."

Arno took two, three steps toward Napoléon which let his soldiers to come to the ready. As a result, all Assassins, who were visible in the light, pulled their pistols out of their holsters and unleashed their weapons as well. Arno spoke softly that it only reached his counterpart. His voice dripped with rage.  "Because you are. Your greed for power has led your wife to want to support you as best as possible. And to resort to means that can only be described as lunacy."

Arno could see what a daring game with edged tools he was playing. But perhaps this would be the last opportunity for a long time to change such words with Napoleon. He forced his voice to much more calm as he continued.  "I beg you, let go of the artifact and release our sister. This… thing… will do you nothing but harm and mischief. It has powers you do not want to be responsible for. Just trust me on this point. I saw its power, felt it. And I wish no one had ever heard of this subject. The world would be a lot safer."

The silence following Arno's words was so tense that a falling needle would have been enough to tip it over. Napoleon held his gaze and sought to find a lie that did not exist. The two men, soldier/conqueror, assassin/lover, did not know each other for long, let alone intensively. But as men of honor, they understood themselves on a universal level, which moved Bonaparte to nod.

"In a fair world you would certainly be right Arno. But this world is by no means fair. It needs order and leadership. And this artifact will help me. You can decide if you want to be for or… against me afterwards. Whether in one way or another, this path will be followed and there is not the slightest doubt about that. Not to mention that I will not let myself be stopped by you or any meaningful words."

A new silence entered between the two men as followers shifted weight around them, slipping their hands towards arms and tensing muscles.

Arno's voice dropped to a whisper, which only Napoléon was able to perceive.  "Can we please… bring this matter to an end now?"

Bonaparte eyed him again for two or three breaths before raising his hand and flicking it.  "Capitaine, please bring our… guest in."

The doors at the other end opened as the chain of command arrived at the soldiers posted there. Arno hardly dared to avert his attention from Bonaparte. But when familiar footsteps reached his ear, he could not help but to allow it. His gaze slid over the familiar figure, who had actually been dressed in her Assassin-attire. The brown, slightly reddish, hair flowed open around pale, tense facial features. She was not physically upright, but she did not seem to be hurt. As their eyes met, it almost seemed to suffocate Arno his air. Her lips silently formed his name.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláire** felt her heart skip a beat as their eyes crossed. Obviously, it was this intense feeling that actually allowed her to control her body for a fraction of an instant and silently formed his name. Desperate, she braced herself with all her remaining strength against the strangers' shackles. Helplessly protesting, she was once again damned to just watch._  
_**~*~*~**_

"The artifact... Arno... s'il vous plait,” Napoléon demanded as soon as the delegation had caught up. Silently, he held out an open, empty hand to the Assassin.

Carefully, Arno grabbed at his belt to keep any of the guards from firing a rash shot, assuming he wanted to draw a weapon. The gently golden shimmering artifact in one hand, he spread the other frankly.  "Send her here. Her hand in mine and you will receive the artifact."

The calm in his voice surprised Arno himself. Nevertheless, Bonaparte seemed to be convinced. A curt, waving gesture and the soldier, pushing Adeláire forward on the upper arm, began to move with her.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláire** struggled, hissing, trying to distract the stranger, eliciting a reaction that might alert Arno to the dilemma. She just had to believe that by now he knew her well enough to suggest that something was not right at all._  
_**~*~*~**_

For Arno it was almost surreal how this situation resembled the failed handover in Malmaison. The apple in the left, his right hand outstretched to Adeláire, Arno waited that he felt her fingers around his wrist again. As with Joséphine, he never let his opponent out of his sight.

His heart cramped as he felt the slender hand. Firm, relentless, he clasped her tender wrist and vowed silently not to let her go this time. In the silence of the moment, slowly he let the apple sink into Napoleon's hand, without letting it go. Their hands almost clasped over the small, round object.  "Think again, if you  
really want to use this. And if so, with all the wisdom available to you. I implore you."

 _**~*~*~** _  
_If the body that touched his really had been hers, it would have sent tears down her cheeks. So **Adeláire** remained helpless to watch, to experience, to feel how this stranger pursued in her the plan which had been discussed in Malmaison. Just the one who had sent the Assassin one after the other horror over her spine. Knowing that she would not be able to change anything._  
_**~*~*~**_

Reluctantly, Arno detached himself from the apple and allowed Napoléon to step back from him. Without really looking, he drew Adeláire with a jerk towards him and gave her enough momentum that she came to stand directly behind him. He still clutched her wrist and watched as Bonaparte signaled his soldiers to withdraw.

 

_"Bishop, I have her! The DNA sequence reacts! Ava is close!"_

_"Very good Initiate. Keep going! We need full control back. Whatever happened there, we have to undo it."_

_"Has Layla been able to find out who these people are and how they got this technology?"_

_"No not yet. But that's not important right now. Concentrate, Initiate. We have to get this ancestor back! "_

The next moment everything happened very fast and like in a surreal nightmare. A voice in Arno's back, which sounded too much like Adeláire, yelled "For Lady Eve!" and hell broke loose in the long hall.

As if trying to move under water, Arno turned to the woman, whose wrist he still clutched. Her fingers had tightened around his own. The features he looked at were like the woman he had left in the cellar weeks before. And yet they were completely foreign to him. Angrily, with a thirst for murder in her eyes, she threw herself at him with the Assassin's blade drawn.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_Desperately, **Adeláire** tried to stop the stranger, deflecting the blade, letting go of Arno's wrist. Anything! But nothing she wanted to succeed. The emotions, all the anger, all the hatred in this stranger surged like energy through her body, her being, which she had nothing to oppose. Helpless and with aching heart she could only remain in her state of observation._  
_**~*~*~**_

Arno was frozen to ice, unable to react. The only thing that saved his life at that moment was Verne; as well as his reflexive action. A phantom blade whizzed lightning fast, unerringly, and struck Adeláire's left hand. Because of the short distance, she was even able to deflect the deadly hidden blade a bit. But the completion of that journey was stopped solely by the pain.

Arno still stared in disbelief at the woman's facial expressions, which became stranger to him from second to second. He did not notice the turmoil around him. Almost hissing, the Assassin grabbed her injured hand and backed away slightly from him and Verne. Just to pull her rapier and move on to the next attack.

 

_"Bishop, we need Deakon's help. We cannot do it alone. The hack is overloaded with energy. We cannot get through this."_

_"Hold on! Deakon! Turn yourself thereto, fast!"_

_"On my way!"_

 

Only Arno's years of training reflexes led him to avoid the Assassin who was charging wildly. As Verne drew his pistol and Jean turned to them, aware of what was happening, Arno raised his arms defensively.  "No, I'll take care of her. Make sure the soldiers do not gain the upper hand."

Before Arno could await any responds to his words, he had to get to safety before Adeláire's next attack. Slowly his mind was awakening from the stupor of ice and began to think wildly how he should master the situation.

"Adeláire... wake up... it's me... Arno..." he tried it with reassuring persuasion between the attacks. He refused to pull a weapon against the woman who simply could not be herself.

"And? What should it change that you are who you are? I am completely in my senses. And you will die here and today!"

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adelaire** startled. That was her voice. But such words would it never be. When the stranger spit the death threat against Arno, something snapped inside the Assassin.  "You will not do anything like that, bitch. You cannot just come here, keep me trapped in my own skin, and then threaten the man I... ", she stop for a moment, swallow, "...love..."_

_"And what do you want to do about it... sweetheart?"_

_Adeláire felt anger give her the same energy as the stranger. Without no further words, she went on to attack._  
_**~*~*~**_

Arno flinched inwardly and outwardly from all the hate thrown at him. He felt his throat tighten and his dodge became more rickety and shaky.  "Adeláire... please... do not force me..."

She stumbled past him as he turned elegantly around his axis and out of reach. The facial expressions that returned to him were full of pain, suffering and anger.  "Defend yourself, you coward! Defend yourself and face me!"

"Adeláire... what ..." the otherwise so confident Assassin stuttered helplessly before a smoke bomb obscured the view. Instinctively, Arno spread his senses and silently condemned the long and hard-toned reflex of activating the Phantomblade. "...what have they done to you..." he whispered softly into the fading smoke. Slowly he backed away from the as well slowly approaching Adeláire, ignoring the trembling of his outstretched left arm.

 

_"All right Bishop, we'll have it... just... a second..."_

_"Deakon, we do not have a second!"_

_"Just... a... moment..."_

_"DEAKON!"_

_"THERE! There we have it! Ava, go now... help her... "_

 

"What they did do to me? Everything… and… nothing. But most of all, they opened my eyes. "

Arno dodged another attack and like with an automatism, the blade triggered from the phantombow. Only his trembling arm prevented it from striking.  "Opened your eyes? About what?"  His mind was still searching for a solution while his heart refused to consider Adeláire an enemy.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláire** sensed the presence, which supported itself helpful alongside. With a dark and eternally old memory, she realized that she were those who had driven the stranger out of her. Still, they were simply moths whirring around the light, hoping to change it. It left Adeláire's heart pounding as she overheard what she was doing to Arno in the following. Could he not see that she was not herself?  "Arno... please... take a closer look..." she pleaded the one who could not hear her._  
_**~*~*~**_

"About you! About your feelings! About your way of dealing with people. To precipitate everyone around you into ruin with you. And leave them behind when it comes to saving your skin!"  She yelped and spat these words at him that it  
almost hit Arno like physical slaps. Shaken, he stopped dead in his tracks, lowered his arms, and stared into the pain-filled face, over which tears were running freely.

"Adeláire... I..." he whispered softly.

He did not get any more. She did not allow it.  "You just left me alone in this goddamn cellar! YOU exposed me to all this! YOU are to blame for everything that they have done to me! YOU... and only YOU alone!"

 _**~*~*~** _  
_"Oh my god... Arno... no... Do not believe her.. please... I implore you... Remember! Remember all that we had so little time to share. Arno... "_  
_**~*~*~**_

Arno collapsed, as if Genevieve had once again ripped the bullwhip over his back. He felt that something he had buried deep inside himself since the moment in the cellar, spilled to the surface like corrosive liquid. Bile rose in his throat and it felt like countless claws ripped his heart apart. Everything that escaped him at that moment was a gasp.

He saw Adeláire take a run-up. He knew what would happen next. It was as if time itself had slowed down. Silently and surrendering, Arno lowered his arms and faced death. Death in the form of a petite woman with flashing green eyes and wild, brown-red curls. How was it with the Germanic warriors? A death full of honor, worthy of the hereafter? The madness of this thought his mind did not grasp at that moment.

 

_"AVA! Stop that! If he dies, maybe his entire bloodline will be wiped out! Do something!"_

 

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adelaire** shrieked in protest and felt how the supportive presence took her hand and threw herself together with her towards the stranger. United, they were no more moths. Now they were the projectile that extinguished the light. It felt as if Adeláire was wielding a hidden blade and chasing it with all the force of her desperate feelings into the back of the stranger. After all the agony, after all the torture, after all the helplessness, it was the first time that she fully enjoyed the feeling of killing._  
_**~*~*~**_

Just as little as the madness of his thought of Germanic warriors, Arno's mind grasped the fraction of the second in which everything changed. A shadow slipped between him and the approaching death. A blade was deflected, broke. The rapier was parried and a fist thundered with a "Sorry, girl" on a slender temple and the scales of fate was balanced again.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláire** felt her body collapse like a wet sack. She knew Jean had not recognized the moment in which she had regained control. Strangely enough, everything felt good. To feel herself. The pain of the injury in the left hand. The pain of the blow to the temple. With a soft sigh, Adeláire sank into unconsciousness, in which she could feel herself again._  
_**~*~*~**_

_"Deakon? What happened?"_

_"You have seen it. We saved the day again without anyone knowing."_

_"Deakon!"_

_"Yes, yes. And beyond that, unfortunately, we have lost the hacker. Tracer is running. But that will take a while."_

_"All right then. Initiate, get Ava out of there. She should take a break."_

_"Alright Bishop."_

 


	21. ...something begins...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange Chapter-Title for the Epilogue of a "Book"?  
> Well, at the End you maybe know, why i did choose the last two Chapter-Titles :-)
> 
> There isn't written something new... yet... And i don't know, when this is going to happen.  
> Still i hope, you'll stick with me and let me enjoy your support.  
> It was a pleasure to write all of this... for you... :)

\-------- Paris, Castle Saint-Cloud, 18. Brumaire / November 9th, 1799 _\----_

 

 

Jean turned to Arno and gave him a palpable blow to the chest.  "What do you actually think about wanting to tumble yourself so raggedly to death? Have you completely lost your mind now?"

Arno blinked in confusion and all he seemed capable of feeling was boundless regret. About the fact that Adeláire's intend was not crowned with success. Silently, he stepped around Jean and squatted down next to the unconscious Assassin. Reality and past shoved itself one upon the other. His hand stroked her _\- and yonder -_ cheek. His arms lifted her _\- and yonder -_ up from the ground. His body felt her _\- and yonder -_ weight.

"We have to get out of here..." he muttered under his breath, perceiving his surroundings only blindly.

It was Master Trenet's voice that finally resolved the situation.  "Monsieur Lemoine, Monsieur LaHache, retreat. Send them some of the new combat bombs and then get out of here."  She raised her voice so that all the other Assassins in the hall could hear her.  "Assassins! Retraite!"

As planned for this case, Verne, Jean and two other brothers broke through the floor-to-ceiling windows and double doors of the hall leading out into the garden. Hastily and in the cover of the smoke and combat bombs, the Assassins cleared the field and withdrew via distributed escape routes from Castle Saint-Cloud.

Francesco soon joined Arno, Verne and Jean. His horrified look at Adeláire, who lay like lifeless in Arno's arms, spoke volumes. But he said nothing and followed his brothers silently to one of the secret entrances into the catacombs that led to the Sanctuary. None of the four spoke as they quickly made their way to the nerve center.

Arno did not even dare to take another look at the woman in his arms, let alone inhale the smell of her hair. He felt something like a shock seem to paralyze his thoughts. All that hate that had burned in the green eyes in that moment. Where did this come from? She had looked like she was not herself. And why had she called for a fight in the name of Lady Eve? All these questions, like the bats in Franciade, buzzed around in Arno's head.

"Arno..."

He registered that he was meant. But somehow his mind still failed to cooperate. Everything felt like it was with Élise back then. Just why?

"Arno! Look at me!"

Another memory. Versailles. Monsieur de la Serre.

"Goddamn boy, wake up!" Jean, who palpably smacked him one. This actually brought Arno to his senses, even though his cheek was clearly protesting.

"Damn Jean, did you really have to go that rough?" Arno grumbled indignantly.

"If you stand around here like a pillar of salt, and you cannot decide to go back or forth, yes. That's when I thought it must be time to wake you up."  Jean’s facial expressions looked grim as Arno raised his gaze to him. Just like Verne’s, who turned his eyes away from him. Cesco even had turned his back on them. Puzzled, Arno looked around until he registered where their footsteps had taken them. Stubborn and petulant, he closed his arms more tightly around Adeláire.

"No, definitely not. I will not get her out of a cell to throw her right back into the next one. That's out of the question."  The stubbornness in his voice reflected his attitude and he was about to make his way to the café.

It was Verne's calm voice that stopped him.  "And then what? What do you want to do if she decides to try it again in your sleep?"  Verne raised his eyes to his brother and put his hands on Arno‘s shoulders, holding him up. Verne avoided looking too closely at Adeláire as well.  "Arno, she was trying to embed a blade in your back. She attacked you repeatedly. I could see... and hear it clearly. She wanted to kill you! And she has caused only chaos. As long as we do not know what they did to her and why she did all this, she poses a threat. You cannot let her run around at the moment. Not to mention near you."  Verne's eyes hardened.  "And especially not, as long as you seem so willing to accept a blade between the ribs."  Arno held the gray gaze of his brother and friend, which changed in pain. He knew that his own was carrying exactly the same emotions at the moment.  "As much as it hurts me deep in the soul. But for now, she's safest down here," his friend finally concluded.

Arno looked away from Verne and finally let his gaze slide over the woman in his arms. Even in unconsciousness, her features were tormented. Outwardly it was impossible to perceive if she had been physically offended. She looked like she always did when in her Assassin-gear, as if she had just yesterday dived with him over the rooftops of Paris. And yet it felt like years ago.

Again with a lump in his throat, which made his breathing difficult, Arno steered his steps with a heavy heart inside the cell. Carefully, as if he were laying Adeláire in his bed in the café, he dropped her on the cot. Silently he squatted in a crouch and stroked the tangled curls from her forehead. Immersed, he got rid of his right glove and caressed from her temple down to the chin. Smooth, he finally leaned forward and breathed a kiss on her forehead.

Softly, like a wisp of wind, only audible for him and her, soft whispered words found the way into her ear.  "Remember yourself... ma chere. And... me..."

His body felt heavy and sore as he rose and looked down at the delicate bundle. Silently, he finally turned away and was more than thankful that his brothers had waited outside the cell. Nobody found any words. But each of them felt a heavy heart as Jean let the massive door shut and then locked it.

Each of them cast a last glance through the barred window at the small-looking figure on the bunk before the Assassins turned away to report to the rest of the council.

For Arno, it did not feel like they were going to a final meeting. It felt like the real fight was just about to begin. And he already felt this liability on his shoulders like a burden that was much too heavy.

 

 

\-------------- Paris, Sanctuary of the Assassins, November 1799 _\----_

 

 

Arno sat at the round table almost as if he were uninvolved. The conversations of the council and his friends rushed by like the Seine at the café. Again and again his mind played through the moments in Saint-Cloud. The words burned like knives in his soul. He stared silently at the grained wooden surface of the table.

"Monsieur Dorian?" 

He did not even register this as his own name.

"Monsieur Dorian!"  Jean pushed him so painfully into the side that it made Arno gasp aloud. Frowning, he turned his attention to the Council.

It was Master Trenet who braced herself on the table and fixed him exhaustedly.  "Maybe you should come to a clear mind again before we discuss this any further. Rest yourselves. Tomorrow is another day."  Tired, the Master pushed herself from the table and massaged her obviously aching forehead.

"Forgive me, Master Trenet, I did not mean to appear disrespectful,” his voice sounded as erratic as his elevation as he bowed.

Master Trenet smiled gently.  "You did not do that. Take a break. You have experienced a lot lately. And probably some of what you have to come to terms with first. Let us know if we can help somehow."

Arno nodded silently and felt his thoughts drift away again.  "Doctor... Adeláire needs... a doctor. Because of her hand."

"We take care of everything. Monsieur Lemoine, do you feel yourself empowered to take care of your friend?"  Arno noticed that Master Trenet's voice was indeed worried. With something like desperate anger in his stomach, he finally pulled himself together.

"I can manage, thank you. I just… have… to breathe a bit."  With that, Arno bowed respectfully again and turned to leave, which only brought him to the balustrade of the outside staircase, which led down to the lobby. Cramping, he braced himself against it and did not really know if he would make it to the Café. It was Verne who silently put a supporting arm around his friend's shoulders and strode with him into the quarters.

 

As before their departure for the meeting with Napoléon, the four friends shared a lodging. Arno sat on the edge of his bed, his arms propped on his knees, still staring in disbelief into space. Jean made himself comfortable on the bed relatively quickly. Somewhere he had gotten something to eat and a bottle of wine. Verne took the latter from him. Otherwise, not at all his style, he took a deep draft directly from the bottle and handed it silently to Francesco, who shook his head and refused mutedly. Arno actually considered for a moment when the wine was passed to him. Too often he had already fallen into this trap. But for  
today he pushed this away and imitated Verne’s gesture.

"All right then. Now, which of you is telling me now what the hell happened in Saint Cloud? I do not know the girl very well. But what I know about her does by no means suit to what we saw there."

Jean summed up precisely the thoughts they all shared. Arno got up and started to get rid of his weapons. Verne did the same. Francesco simply sat on his bed, his back against the wall, his feet supported by the edge of his bed, his hands resting loosely on his knees. He stared silently at the ceiling. It was Verne who spoke.

"I can only make assumptions about, like all of us. But I think it has something to do with those chemicals that Léon could capture. They must somehow have changed her personality. My analyses are not finished yet. But I think we'll need some sort of antidote."  Thoughtfully, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and massaged his wrists.  "Or we'll have to wait for those... poisons... to leave her blood."  Wistfully, he glanced over at Arno's back, which turned to face the friends and the room.  "That could take a while, though."

Silence entered the round until Arno prevailed to speak.  "Who knows, maybe she was more herself than she has ever been before. She was always very closed-mouthed. Maybe this was her real face."

He sensed that he did not want to believe in these words himself. That they only arose from his own reproaches and were inspired by the words of hatred that she had thrown at him. But she was there, that little nasty voice in his ear that whispered to him, _"And what if…?“_

"You do not believe that yourself, do you?" the words came softly from Francesco.

Silently, Arno turned to his friend, who met his gaze and held it. Pain was in the features of the younger, as well as in his. Arno hated how his own voice sounded in his ears.

"I do not know what to believe anymore at the moment. All this has been more than crazy in the last few days and weeks. Sometimes it feels like it's starting to steal my mind. So much misfortune cannot possibly accumulate in one place, in a single life."

Once again, silence entered the circle. Nobody knew how to give Arno an answer to that. How should they? The silence was broken by Verne, who cleared his throat and tied his hair fresh in his neck.  "All right, you men should try to rest a little. If you need me for anything, I'm in the lab trying to analyze these chemicals. "

No one responded to this announcement, which finally made Verne leave the room. Jean stretched out on his bed first and filled the room after a while with soft snoring sounds. Arno kept his hands, and less successfully his mind, busy with the activity of maintaining his weapons.

Francesco spoke quietly.  "That was not her.” 

Arno just responded with a hummed "Mhm" to this statement.

"Are you listening to me? She was not. No way! Even though she is not easy to deal with and makes a real hide and seek out of her feelings, she would never say such a thing to someone for whom she feels something. Let alone want to kill him."

Silently, Arno set the phantom blade aside.  "But what if it was her? What if what they did to her in Malmaison has broken her so much that she actually believes in those words? What if she actually blames me for everything? How could anything grow on such ground anymore?"  Arno turned his back on his friend. He was not willing to deal with his pain in addition to his own. He just did not have enough strength for that.

"I just cannot believe that..." another silence expanded, "I just… do not want… to believe that..."

Enraged, Arno spun around and threw with a frustrated and pained sound one of the phantom blades towards the door where it dug deep into the wood. His voice spewed out the tension.  "Do you think I want that?! But she's right with what she accuses me. I left her alone in this cellar. I saved Verne, _not her_. I saved my own skin, _not hers_. She has every right to be disappointed and to reproach me. It's my fault. I was in charge and I could not make sure that everyone could escape without a scratch. Even you said that in the Safehouse."

Francesco held out his anger, knowing Arno wasn’t blaming him.  "That's right, I said that. And I'm sorry, Arno. Really. I should not have said something like that. I was angry. Like you now. And I apologize."  The younger man eased his sitting position on the bed, folded his legs cross-legged, and rested his hands in his lap.  "You should try not to let your heart and soul be eaten up by these words. Believe in her. Believe in both of you. Something completely twisted takes place here. And all we have to do is find out what that is. And to get her out of it."

Sighing, Arno put his hands on his hips and hung his head. Enervated, he finally massaged his aching forehead.  "I have not the slightest idea how to do that, ’Cesco."

A two, three breathless silence before the younger answered.  "Neither do I. But we have to try it somehow. We owe her."

Arno raised his eyes to his friend and remembered his words on the road to the south coast. They had not spoken much about his revelation, that he had feelings for Adeláire, or had them in the past. Arno, however, could almost feel the depth of Cesco's connection to his sister. It only made the burden on his shoulders heavier. Silently, Arno nodded and finally stretched out on the bed, sighing, knowing he would not be able to get shuteye.

 

The news the next morning that Paris - and thus France - were leaderless, swam past Arno and the others just like marginal notes. They knew that Master Trenet had assigned Assassins to continue watching the events in Saint Cloud. Obviously, the coup took its planned course.

Verne had not come out of his lab yet, Jean had agreed to train new novices, and Francesco was untraceable for the moment. So Arno decided to go up to the café to check if everything was in order. And hopefully be able to distract himself.

His plan worked as long as he exchanged ideas with his intendant in his office about the books. But as he led his steps into his private room, countless memories raided him. Shared moments, shared nights. Talks by candlelight and a nightly meal. The 'return home' after a mission and quietly steal at her side into their bed. Her figure at the desk, clad only in one of his shirts, studying information while absently sipping coffee.

With a profoundly aggressive sound that rose deep from his chest, he rubbed his eyes with his fists. He turned resolutely and made his way back down to the café's dining room.

"Arno..." It was the quiet, melodious voice of Juliette that tore him out of his thoughts. She caught him at the bottom of the stairs to the ground floor.  "I think you need my help."

Arno blinked confused and climbed down the last steps. The amber of her eyes smiled warmly with a trace of regret.  "Your sister... we have to find out if she is herself again."

Arno felt his aversion sprout from the memory of the pain the procedure had inflicted on him.  "Does that not have time? She is safe where she is right now. Can she not just recover first?"

Juliette approached him and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. Her gaze compelling fixed on his.  "Not only that, we have to do it now. You will even have to control her continuously. The door is now open. And we can never know if and perhaps, when, this will be used again. And above all... from whom. If you want to stay close to her, this I am assuming, then you have to reconcile with this thought. You may never be completely safe again."  Her smile became sad and regretful.  "As much as I would like to guarantee this to you."

Arno snatched his arm from her and stepped away. Something burned in him, which he did not know how to interpret.  "Stop it. I never want to hear such words again. I... you... will not tempt me to mistrust her forever."  With that, he turned away from the young woman and stormed past her. It was only when the darkness closed around him that he realized he had steered his steps back to the sanctuary.

Breathing heavily, he leaned against one of the walls and closed his eyes, trying to control his breath and calm his thoughts as well as his confused emotions. Silently, he finally continued on his way until he came to a stop in front of the cell door.

She was awake. She was sitting on the bunk in the far corner with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her forehead rested on them and Arno could hear that she was muttering softly to herself. His heart bled in grief to see her like that. Though he wanted to turn away and leave without a sign of life, he stood and started to shiver. Usually it was almost impossible to sneak up on him. But Juliette had somehow made it happen at that moment. Silently, she held open her right hand, a ring of golden shimmering gold lying on her palm.

Arno took a step back and shook his head.  "I cannot do this."

"Then let me do it. Should she hate me as the pain-bringer, not you."

With a growling, helplessly desperate sound, the Assassin clenched his fists and leaned with his back against the wall next to the door. A burning look pierced those amber stones. For no price in the world would he want to make that decision. And knew at the same moment that he was forced to do so anyway. Helpless, he started one last, desperate attempt.  "Is there no other possibility?"

Juliette smiled gently.  "You know that's not the case."

"Arno? Are you all right?" 

It was the assigned guard who was passing Adeláire's cell during his patrol. For a moment Arno wondered if he should just nod and let the Assassin go his way. But finally he lowered his head obediently.  "Please open the cell. We have to… talk… to her."

The brother did not question further and did as desired. He placed the key in Arno's hand.  "Just bring it to the office when you're done."  Arno just nodded silently.

She raised her eyes to him as he stepped through the heavy, open door. The hope that swept over her features made his heart heavy again. Especially when it dispersed like snow in spring when Juliette entered the cell behind him and closed the door. Her movement of eagerly jumping from the cot was abruptly stopped and repatriated. With suspicious gaze, the Assassin returned to her original position.

_**~*~*~**  
**Adeláire** lifted her eyes wearily as a heavy key turned in her cell door. For a moment, it clouded her senses, whether she was still in Malmaison or not. The doubts faded as the well-known blue cloak stepped through the opening door. Relief and hope sprang up in her, which made her start the attempt to embrace him. But a look into his facial expressions told her in a fraction of a second that nothing was good at all. Especially not when a stranger followed him on the heels._

_Adeláire's heart cramped. Mistrust flickered in her. Caution made her sink back to her corner. Fearfully, she sensed into herself, if something was to be found there, which in the next moment would again cut off her contact with herself.  
**~*~*~**_

"Who is she?” she accused in a predictably dismissive tone.

"Someone who wants to help you... Adeláire..."  Arno hesitated, contemplating whether he wanted to use a term of endearment or her name.  Her eyes wandered to his; ain twitched through the pale features that made his breathing difficult. She knew. She knew the words she had spit at him with so much venom and hatred. And he could see that she was more than sorry. How gladly he would have simply embraced her now and whispered in her ear that everything would be fine again. But how, when even he did not believe that.

_**~*~*~**  
**Adeláire** felt her heart bleed when he could not even bring a "mon cher" over his lips. Pictures, words not even 24 hours ago flashed through her mind. Everything in her began to ache and groan. How should all this be undone again? Would that even be possible?_

_Suffering. That was all she seemed capable of lately. Was it the same for Arno back then? After Élise's death?  
**~*~*~**_

"It would have been the best help for me if someone finally let me out of here."  She studied the silent Arno for a moment, who plainly returned her gaze mutely. Her voice was fragile but controlled.  "But I can understand why this is not possible."  She looked away from him as if she found it too difficult to look at him anymore.  "Until they decide what to do about me it might be better if you… did not come back..."

_**~*~*~** _   
_It almost broke **Adeláire‘s** heart to send him away. She longed for nothing more than to hide herself away into the café, crawl under the blanket, into his arms and forget everything that had happened. But her still-working mind clearly made her understand that this was the last thing that would happen._   
_**~*~*~**_

Arno struggled with himself. His mistrust screamed at his emotions inwardly. His mind implored him not to do anything stupid. Eventually, however, a visible jolt went through his body and he stepped toward the crouching figure on the cot. Carefully, he dropped to a crouch in front of her. He did not touch her, did not dare.  He just tried to do this through the sincerity of his voice.

"We want to help... Adeláire. I will not lie to you, it will not be pleasant. And I know you have no reason to trust us at the moment and let that happen."  He turned his eyes away as well as hers. His heart could not endure all this.  "But if you ever want us to trust you again, please permit it. Let her explain why it is necessary and... trust us ... that we do not want to harm you."

Silence spread throughout the room, during which time none of them seemed to move a muscle.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_Silently she pleaded to any of the powers that might feel pity for her to end all this. Trembling, Adeláire wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, vehemently pushing back the tears. She could understand why trust no longer existed. It seeped like poison from a leaking cask and wrestled with those parts inside her holding emotions for Arno, for whom she even did not want to admit to herself. But from one to the other breath, she knew that there was no room left for hide and seek._  
_**~*~*~** _

„Don‘t you know that I trust you more than anyone else... mon âme?" His eyes winced up to her. She had never used any terms of endearment. Mistrust flickered in Arno and was certainly to be read in his gaze, from which she immediately flinched, the already raised hand to touch him withdrawing again. Her voice sounded more uncertain in his ears than just a heartbeat before. "More... than myself..."

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláire** cursed herself inwardly. Of course, it would make him suspicious if she let herself get carried away to revelation right now. But she lost both strength and ideas._  
_**~*~*~** _

Once again she wrapped her arms around her as she always did when she tried to protect herself. Arno forced his breath to calm down and studied her intensely. If she was lying, it was hardly distinguishable. Carefully he raised a hand and stroked a strand of hair from her temple behind her ear. Softly, without taking her eyes off his, she cupped her cheek into his gloved hand. The gesture seemed so fragile, so trusting that it gave him and his heart a jolt. He glided smoothly beside her on the bunk and pulled her without warning into a bear hug.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_It was the moment in which **Adeláire** barely could keep herself under control. His gesture, his touch, something broke in her that had always caused her to hide her emotions. She allowed herself to appear weak. Hoping, to give him a trusting gesture._

 _She could almost feel the burden dropping from her soul as he slid beside her, hugging her so tightly that it almost blew her breath away. But for nothing in the world she would have wanted distance at the moment. The tears no longer restrained, she hid her face in the coat fabric of his chest and clung to him seeking for support._  
_**~*~*~** _

He felt her fiercely trembling body in his arms, holding her all the tighter. Mutually they whispered soft apologies in each others ear, while she clung to him and apparently was not willing to ever let go again. Arno felt the belief that she had actually returned, growing inside him. Still, the small, nasty, suspicious voice remained in the background. And just that prevented any intimacy beyond the embrace. This and Juliette's presence, which was noticeable by a careful clearing of the throat.

"Adeláire... do you know what we have to do?" Arno spoke softly, following an impulse.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_She did not want this. She was not ready to give up that sense of security so quickly. She was silent on Arno's question as long as it was possible._  
_**~*~*~** _

It took a while for the slender figure in his arms to respond to his question. Finally she nodded silently.

"You want to know if this stranger is still in me. And you cannot trust me and my words enough. So you have to somehow... test it."  She lifted her gaze to him, where in addition to fear and pain also something like devotion emanates. Arno swallowed and just nodded silently.

"I'll try to be as gentle as possible. I promise you,” Juliette said softly and earnestly.

It took some more heartbeats before Adeláire implied a detachment from Arno. With a degree of relief, he realized that a feeling in him was reluctant to do so. Gently he stroked her curls from her shoulder to her back as she sat upright on the cot.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláire** still did not want this. She closed her eyes for as long as possible, knowing what would follow. Until finally something urged her to surrender to the circumstances. It was that ‘something‘ that was aware there was no other way to win Arno's trust back. And probably of all the others too. Repeatedly she cursed Joséphine silently and vowed that she would pay for all this._

 _With a devoted sigh she addressed the words to Arno, lifted her eyes and recognized her grief as his and vice versa. With an energetic pull, she broke away from him and straightened up. She was an Assassin. And she would survive this. One way or the other._  
_**~*~*~** _

Juliette smiled gently down at Adeláire and finally turned to Arno.  "Maybe you should help her. You know, it's going to hurt. Maybe you want to… hold her...?"

Arno was reluctant to have a share in this procedure. He caught Adeláire's gaze, which carried something softly pleading. Asked him not to leave her alone now. Silently, he finally sat down on the cot as if he and she were sharing the narrow space of the bathtub. She understood his gesture as he spread his arms and nestled her back against his chest. He grasped her upper body and tried not to let it seem too much like captivity. Her wildly beating heart told him he did not seem to be very adept at doing so.

Juliette stepped closer and brushed the ring over her finger. Adeláire fiercely gathered in his arms and began to tremble wildly.  "I... no ... I've changed my mind. I... don‘t... please..."

Arno nestled his cheek against her temple, trying to whisper soothing words in her ear.  "It will go fast. Trust me. Everything will be alright. Somehow..."  He tightened his grip on the slender figure, who began to struggle wildly and backed away from Juliette.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_How much she would really like to sit up in the café in a warm bath with him. Would she ever be able to do this again? Would he ever let her get so close to him? Or had happened now before which Verne had warned her back then? One wrong move and the door to Arno's heart closed. Forever._

 _She tried not to think about it any longer while nestling into his arms. She had to confess, she enjoyed that feeling infinitely. Until she realized with what the stranger was approaching. Adeláire had never seen what exactly Joséphine had used to invade her mind. But the golden glow that emanated from the ring on the finger of the stranger seemed all too familiar. Panic laced her in and automatically the Assassin began to fight back._  
_**~*~*~** _

Arno and Juliette glanced at each other for a moment, then she took the last step and touched Adeláire's temple. It almost broke Arno's heart as her shrill scream rang in his ears. He closed his eyes before her wildly twitching body in his arms and kept trying to find soothing words.

 _**~*~*~** _  
_**Adeláires** fears were confirmed. It felt the same as with Joséphine. A golden drill in her skull, which seemed to dig through her innermost. Turned every corner of her soul, allowed no shadow, let alone left behind. Which ripped layer by layer her being from her bones, leaving her bare and unprotected behind._

 _Adeláire felt her twitch, heard her scream, and yet could not control it. The only thing she had to protect herself from the madness was the flight into_  
_unconsciousness, which she received like an old friend, softly sighing._  
_**~*~*~** _

That Juliette resigned from Adeláire Arno only noticed, as the latter sagged limp in his arms. Deeply terrified, he opened his eyes and took off a glove to feel Adeláire's pulse.

"She’s alive. It was just more traumatic for her than it was for you. She's just unconscious."  Juliette put a slender hand on Arno's shoulder and searched his eyes.  "She is who she should be. Nobody occupies her... " she waited until she had his full attention, "... for the moment."

Arno nodded silently and changed his attitude to the woman in his arms to a protective, sheltering. Silently and mutely, he rocked her in his arms and let Juliette go without comment. He dumbly implored that they had not made things worse than they already did.

And for the first time in years _\-- since back then --_ he was silently shedding, in the dark, brown-red curls, tears of a sorrowful, too heavy heart.

_"All right then. Now that the worst is over, what do we have?"_

_"First of all, we have a new comrade. Due to the turbulence, we did not really have a chance to present and welcome her properly. "_

_"We are truly sorry for William. Layla, welcome to the Assassins."_

_"Thank you. Although I cannot say that I already know what it is about and what you want from me."_

_"I thought she was highly intelligent?!"_

_"Deakon, behave yourself."_

_"Sorry Bishop."_

_"Well, Miss Hassan, of course it's about your animus. And about the independence of ancestors. As we have understood so far, your animus allows to dive into past lives only because of the presence of DNA."_

_"That's right, Mr. Miles. Actually, with this technology, I finally wanted to be included into the animus-team around Sophia Rikkin..."_

_"You mean, before they tried to kill you..."_

_"Um, yes... right. And after all that I've been able to figure out in this mess, someone has either hacked me, or Abstergo. What Ava said, sounds like my  technology. But somehow... changed. We need to find out if these people work for Abstergo and if they are one step ahead or if they are independent."_

_"Miss Hassan is right. And above all, we have to do it quickly, before this group, for whom ever they work, not only observes history... but... changes it."_

_"Daekon, has the tracer returned any results?"_

_"No, I'm sorry Bishop. I refined it and it still running. Maybe Miss Hassan has some ideas on how we can make the search more effective."_

_"Ohh, I certainly do. That's my technology. And I will not let any madman abuse it."_

_"Well, Miss Hassan, with this attitude and motivation you should be a great match for the Assassins."_

 

 

 

\-------------- Paris, Sanctuary of the Assassins, November 1799 _\----_

 

 

Arno stayed in the Sanctuary. He could not stand his own four walls in the café at the moment. And maybe a part of him wanted to stay close to her. As he could not do it during her imprisonment in Malmaison.

Verne, Cesco, and he alternated with visiting Adeláire. The Council had not yet decided how they wanted to remain with her. So it was all about patience and waiting. At irregular intervals, Juliette visited the captured Assassin. Only a few times Arno managed to escort her again. Even though it seemed that Adeláire was getting better at dealing with the pain each time, he really did not believe it.

The day came when Juliette explained Arno that she would not be able to stay in Sanctuary forever.

"Then how can we be sure that no one... will take possession… of Adeláire again?" The question came from ‘Cesco, who had joined the conversation as well as Verne.

“One of you has to learn how to handle the artifact." Juliette's voice was calm as she held the gently glowing gold object, which rested openly on her palm, toward the three Assassins.

Arno crossed his arms over his chest and felt his inner resistance. He did not have to take a look to know that the reaction of his brothers was not much different.

"And I am so sorry to have to say this... Monsieur Dorian," Arno’s gaze flickered to Juliettes face as she spoke, "... but since you have the gift, the safest thing would be if you would accept this."

 Arno felt like his throat was strangled in horror.

"Can‘t we just assume that everything is fine now? I analyzed the chemicals and developed an antidote. Even if someone wanted to administer it to her again, she will be immune from now. And the dose that Joséphine gave her should now have left her circulation."  Verne's voice was urgent and desperate. It was clear that he wanted to spare all further suffering. All the more the three men were hit hard by Juliette's answer.

"Do you want to put your friend's life on that like putting all your eggs in one basket?”

Silence drew in until Arno finally nodded obediently, taking off his right glove and hesitantly reaching for the artifact. He did not like the slight instant tingling. And much less, when he slipped the ring on his finger and made him disappear under the glove.

"We should start briefing and training tomorrow."  Juliette smiled gently and turned to leave, past an incoming Assassin.

"The council wishes to see you." 

Arno nodded to Verne and 'Cesco and was about to turn away to head for the café. 

"All… of you."

Amazed, Arno stopped and exchanged a look with his friends. Frowning, he followed the inviting gesture of the foreign Assassin.

The confusion of all three was still growing when their guide did not lead them up the stairs to the council chambers, but down the steps into the holy of holies. An unpleasant tingling of memories manifested between Arno's shoulder blades. His gaze briefly touched the spot on which Ahmad had breathed his last before memories of his exile gave him a lump in his throat.

Surprised, the three newcomers realized that it was Adeláire, who was in the middle of the roundabout.

"I thank the Council... for everything... and will do my best to prove myself worthy of the trust placed in me."

While approaching, Arno watched how Adeláire bowed to the Council and received a new hidden blade. He felt a sense of relief that the Council had apparently decided to release her. It was a first, good move. Everything else would have to wait.

Arno stopped as he reached the three steps leading down to the center of the roundel, where just Adeláire had stood. Turning away, she glanced at him and her brothers, smiling slightly uncertainly. She stepped aside and left the circle.

"Monsieur Dorian, would you be so kind to step forward... please..." came from Master Trenet.

‘Cesco smiled gently as he turned away and strode over to Adeláire. Verne put a hand on Arno's shoulder and almost gave him a gentle push in the right direction before joining ‘Cesco's path.

Significantly hesitant and a good deal uncertain, Arno stepped into the middle of the circle, which had brought his whole world to collapse the last time. He was not sure if he should sink to his knees. He was not one of them, the council had no authority over him, yet the impulse was there before he stifled it.

"Monsieur Dorian, ten years ago you stood exactly in this place and answered our question, whether you want to follow the eagle’s path that you need our help. You sought redemption, got seduced by revenge, and followed your heart instead of the rules and the credo. And you bore the consequences. Today, you are a different man. And you are a different man from the one whom we exiled from the Brotherhood five years ago. You have proven that more slumbers in you than a vengeful spirit."

Arno felt something creep up his spine. Something that felt like coolness and heat, fear and joy. Like determination. He tried to stop the trembling of his hands by closing them into fists.

"Monsieur Dorian, I ask you here and today in the presence of the assembled council, your friends and those who you wisely have led into battle, are you prepared to follow the eagle’s path again?"

Arno swallowed hard and forced the swooshing in his ears back. He balked at any inappropriate response, knowing that this absolutely did not belong here and now.

"If the Council is really convinced of all that, then... yes... I am."

A gentle smile crossed Master Trenet's face.  "Our usual ritual is unnecessary and you already have everything an Assassin needs. So all that is left is to welcome you back into the ranks of the Brotherhood."

An Assassin still approached Arno, as did the one who had given him his first hidden blade. This time there was an emblem, a kind of badge on the pillow. Clearly incorporated into the metal was the symbol of the Brotherhood. Carefully, Arno picked it up and realized that it was a belt buckle. He hid it between his hands and inclined his head to the council in Assassin style.

"I… thank you."

Master Trenet smiled again, nodded and retired with the rest of the council. Apparently, all present were dismissed. Arno still stood incredulously in the middle of the roundel, staring at the buckle in his hands. He had always hoped but never believed in all those years. And now it was real.

"Congratulations... and... good to have you back,” Cesco said with joy and warmth before he and Arno shared a short but cordial hug.

“About damn time."  Jean patted him on the back two or three times before he turned to go.

Verne smiled with as much joy as the youngest in the round, before closing Arno in a friendly hug.  "You really deserve that... brother."  He winked teasingly.  "At least it's not half-truth anymore, if we call you that."  Arno grinned briefly in his boyish way and let Verne go.

"We should toast to that. You'll probably still have hidden a good red somewhere in the café, right?"  Verne returned Arno’s grin before joining ‘Cesco and heading for the exit.

"I'm glad for you.”  

The voice came quietly from behind him; it tightened Arno's heart. He turned cautiously to Adeláire.

”I’m glad for you too..."  His eyes studied her pale features and recognized her hesitatingly. She clearly did not know how to behave toward him. He decided he wanted to make it easy for her. Silently, he approached her, opened his arms in a vague manner, and admitted that he enjoyed the feeling of her body on his when she accepted the invitation.

He gently brushed a kiss on her temple.  "Let's go to the others. Verne‘s right. I still have a good red hiding for such occasions."  Her soft, choking laugh at his chest rejoiced his heart and with a gentle smile around the corner of his mouth he let her go.

His eyes followed her as she left the Holy of Holies. His right with the ring on his finger clenched into a fist. He lifted it wistfully, his eyes studied the gesture and he felt the object, which seemed to lay around him like a burden. A passage of the way ended, right here and now. And a new one started.

 

_~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

 

It was already late night when Arno parted ways with his friends, and now brothers again. His gaze slid briefly through the café in search of Adeláire. She had said goodbye a while ago and has since disappeared.

He had told the servants to prepare rooms and knew his brothers would find the way. In fact tired and yawning, he was already peeling out of his coat on the way up. Carelessly, he threw it across the desk in his room and headed for the table to light the candelabra. Stretching out and yawning again, he untied the ribbon at the nape of his neck and ran his fingers through the then-open hair.

Out of the corner of his eye he perceived the figure standing on his balcony with her back to the open double doors and his room. She must have heard him, but still did not turn around. Silently, he stepped out to her without touching her. Soft, gentle, almost enticing, his voice sounded.

"Everything alright? You disappeared suddenly..."

Adelaire had her arms wrapped around her and stared out at the Seine and Paris. When he spoke, she merely hinted at him in acknowledgement. Her voice was tight as she answered quietly.  "I... somehow felt... out of place."

Arno’s heart ached, which made him approach her and gently put his hands on her shoulders.  "You are always welcome here. No matter what happened in the last few days."  He tried to make his voice sound as gentle as possible.

Adeláire hung her head and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. Carefully and unobtrusively, Arno took another step forward, until her back touched his chest. Only when she leaned against him with a soft sigh did he close his arms loosely and lightly around her shoulders. One of her hands clasped his left. As in the cell, she cupped her cheek in his palm and finally breathed a kiss on the inner surface of his wrist, directly on the strong beating pulse.

"I'm so sorry for everything... Arno... I... I do not know what to say... or do... to make all that forgiven and forgotten. I... it..."

With a reassuring _Shhh_ he pulled her closer into his arms and pressed his cheek against her temple.  "With parts of what you said, you were right. It was my fault. My decision to leave you behind. And believe me, not a day goes by without me tormenting myself for it. Especially because..." he swallowed hard before continuing, "...because I seem to be attracted to this kind of misfortune. I'm trying to compensate for the damage. But it only gets worse. I am the one who is sorry."

Arno sensed that despite all the words and truths he and she had avowed, caution remained deeply rooted in him. Juliette's words rang in his ears. Unwanted, unpopular, but no less true. _> > The door is open. And you can never be sure when it will be used again. And from whom. <<_

He eased his grip as Adeláire turned to face him. An open and inquiring look lifted to him, which he did not know how to interpret. Carefully, a slender hand lifted and ran through dark hair, stroking it back over his shoulder. Holding her gaze, he gently caught that hand and returned her gesture, kissing a wild-beating pulse on the delicate wrist. Trembling fingertips touched his face and broke any suspicion that might have burned within him. Violently, he pulled her into his arms and gave in to the impulse from a heart that desperately wanted to trust and believe.

Her lips trembled, just as her fingertips had. With a desperate sound, suffocated by a hungry kiss, she almost clung to him. Half he pushed her, half she was helping him, as he pressed her against the balustrade of the balcony and lifted her up. He silenced all the voices and alarm sirens that had started to ring in him. Even if she was to be corrupted again, that night, she would be his. And if it was the last night, this experience would still be granted to them.

Still on the balcony he peeled her out of her coat and then lifted her with swing on his arms. He did not have to see where to put his feet to find his way to his destination. His heart ached and rejoiced in the same stroke as she came to rest in his pillows and wild, brown-red curls spread over it. With hot kisses he made his way over the body, which he had missed far too much. Feeling fidgety fingers fumble on the clasp of his belt, he followed her example.

Concerns and restraints interrupted his request and he paused looking down on her.  "Do you really want to…? After all that...?"

A slender finger laid over his lips and gently she shook her head.  "Don‘t…"

Eventually, she picked up one of his hands and brought it down over warm skin to her lap. He could see the desire blaze up in her eyes, as well as how he could feel it. With a sound deep down from his chest, he shared a greedy kiss before turning her over on her tummy and wasting no more time getting rid of clothes.

He enjoyed her responding to him, her approaching, her demanding. He had always done and felt it now with a new kind of feelings. It was not like with Élise. It was still different. But he confessed, it was no less intense. Everything in him groaned with the sheer will to let time stand still like his father's broken clock and just to stay in the here and now. To exclude all the chaos outside the room and never again let it get to close to her, to this delicate figure.

The soft whisper, shared tightly entwined with each other, each of them could almost have missed, if they had wanted to. But so he whispered a furtive "...mon coeur..." which was answered by a soft "...mon âme..."

 

For the first time in weeks, Adeláire felt protected and secure, even well. In half a twilight state, she vehemently refused to wake up and instead pulled his arm closer around her.

_Fog, float, warmth, light._

Adeláire wanted to wake up full of terror, but she couldn’t. She felt the shackles which bound her, as if they had never been gone.

"Did you really think you could escape us so easily?"

Out of the shadows came the figure of the stranger, who approached Adeláire with all the hatred and rage which she had thrown at Arno at Saint Cloud.

"I'm here. And I will always be here. We two still have tasks to fulfill. And before that is done, you will never be free. At last, understand this little heart."

Full of panic fear and boundless anger, Adeláire sought to resist the renewed corruption. As unsuccessful as in Malmaison, all that went out was a violent trembling and twitching of her body in the arms of the sleeping man, to whom her heart belonged.

Adeláire wanted to yell, scream, draw his attention to herself when he awoke, looking down at her.

"Everything alright?" His voice. It almost broke her heart.

"Yes, just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

Adeláire robbed it of her senses. Helpless, she sank into herself. Her voice, her body, but the words of the strangers. What else would happen in her name, in her actions, which she could not control? What else would this stranger destroy?

_Fog, float, warmth, light._

 

 

_…to be continued…_

 

 


End file.
